The Horcrux Within
by althor42
Summary: AU When Harry is fighting Voldemort for the Philosopher's Stone, he makes the horrible discovery that he is keeping Voldemort alive by hosting a fraction of his soul. What is the rest of Harry's time at Hogwarts like when he knows that he has to die?
1. Prologue

A/N: Hello again everyone, I'm back. I hope you're all ready for another adventure. Poor Harry, I never go easy on the guy. Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter. This all belongs to JK Rowling. Awakening

It was Quirrell trying to steal the stone, not Snape. That actually made Harry a little angry. It was Quirrell that they had been quietly supporting when it seemed that Snape was trying to get the secret of his defense out of him. Ron had gone so far as to tell others of for making fun of the man. For him to be behind everything was like a kind of betrayal.

"But Snape tried to kill me," he said, trying to make sense of things."

"No, fool boy," said Quirrell, "I tried to kill you. If it hadn't been for Snape and his counter curse, I would have succeeded."

"Snape was trying to save me?" asked Harry. Forget a little angry. Nearly tossing a kid off his broom was the kind of thing that could put a boy off flying. Not that it had, but still.

Harry had hoped to keep the man talking a little longer, but after Quirrell explained why Snape had refereed the next match, Harry found himself tied up in ropes with a snap of Quirrell's fingers.

It struck Harry as odd that for a man who intended to kill him, Quirrell was actually quite talkative while he was trying to access the stone. Perhaps he was making up for a year of nervous stuttering, but Harry suddenly found himself with more information than he knew what to do with, as Quirrell answered his every question and comment.

Then, a second voice came from Quirrell, a voice that, given the circumstances, could only have belonged to Voldemort.

"Use the boy."

And so, Harry found himself freed from the ropes and standing in front of the mirror. As he had begun to suspect, the mirror went ahead and showed him just where the stone was located, which turned out to be inside of his left pants pocket. Quirrell asked him what he saw in the mirror and Harry lied. Drawing on Ron's experience with the mirror, Harry told Quirrell a tale of winning the Quidditch Cup. Quirrell believed him and threw him aside. Unfortunately, Voldemort was not so easily fooled, and had Quirrell reveal him to Harry. It was grotesque, like something out of one of the horror movies that Dudley liked to watch. And then, Voldemort surprised Harry, by trying to recruit him instead of just trying to kill him. For one horrible moment, Harry pondered Voldemort's offer; could he really have his parents back? But Harry didn't need anyone to tell him that Voldemort couldn't be trusted, and even if he could, even if Harry could have his parents back, they had been enemies of Voldemort and, he had been told, very good people. He doubted that they would want him to make such a deal on their behalf. And so, Harry found himself in a fight for his life.

Harry had been alone when he had entered the final chamber. Alone by necessity. It was something he had become used to when he was just the boy under his relatives' stairs, but that had changed; Harry had changed. He had friends now, good friends who had stood beside him, supported him, and made s'mores with him by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. His friends would have stood beside him if they hadn't had to stay behind. Harry refused to die alone.

Knowing that he would die if he gave Quirrell a chance to curse him, Harry latched onto the man's bare arm. He wouldn't let the man point his wand at him. Quirrell cried out in agony, and tried to wrench himself free, but Harry clung on desperately. He felt something rise up in him, a warmth that spread through his hands, where they met with Quirrell's skin, and in his scar, where the pain grew exponentially. That was when he heard the voices.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" shouted Voldemort.

"Harry!" cried someone in the distance.

The voice he heard in his head though was far more profound.

"Naïve boy, did you think your mother's protection could end me? You can't detach me without your own death. Embrace me, welcome me into you, and I will make you more powerful than you could ever imagine."

His strength gone, Harry fell from professor Quirrell's arm.

'This is it,' he thought to himself. 'I'm going to die.' The last thing he saw before the world faded to black was a flash of gold.

!

Ron stood beside Harry's bed, feeling a little awkward. He had been incredibly relieved to hear that his friend would be alright, especially after he had heard Madam Pomfrey say that he could have died if Professor Dumbledore hadn't arrived sooner.

He had known before hand of course, that any of them could have died going after the stone. Hell, he would have thought Snape capable of killing them without already thinking that he was working for You-Know-Who. But it hadn't been quite real, not until he had seen Professor Dumbledore levitate Harry's body into the infirmary, not until he had heard Madam Pomfrey say what she had. His best friend, his first real friend (little sisters didn't count, did they?) had nearly died at the hands of none other than You-Know-Who. He had been so scared in that moment, as mortality stared him straight in the face. It kind of put things into perspective. Ron decided that he didn't really like perspective, it was far too depressing.

Ron shook his head. It was time to stop worrying. You-Know-Who was gone; Harry had chased him away! The three of them had gotten around all of the Professor's enchantments protecting the stone, and Harry was going to be just fine. Better than fine, actually; he'd just proven that it was more than just a fluke when he beat You-Know-Who as a baby, after all. That had to count for a lot. He leaned over and patted his friend on the shoulder.

"Cheers, mate," he said. "Hope you wake up soon." He nodded to himself and turned to leave the hospital wing, as he'd been cleared just a few minutes before. He made his way up to Gryffindor tower whistling an aimless tune. The tower seemed mostly abandoned when he got there, morning classes were starting in just a few minutes. He found Seamus in their dorm, searching through papers, most likely looking for his homework.

"Morning Seamus," he said jauntily.

"Ron," said Seamus in surprise, turning around. "You're out."

"Yeah, Madam Pomfrey just let me go."

"Are you going to let on what happened then? Only Hermione's hardly said anything."

"Oh, you'd hardly believe the things we've been through." Actually, judging by the rapt expression on Seamus's face, it wouldn't be a tough sell.

!

The voice continued, even as Harry swam in darkness. Whispers spoke slyly in his ears. Threats of death, coupled with promises of glory. Harry tried to tell the whispers to go away, but found that he didn't have a voice of his own. He seemed to float in the black for an eternity.

Finally, Harry came back to consciousness. He looked around himself, finding that he didn't know where he was. Professor Dumbledore was sitting next to him.

"Sir!" he exclaimed. "The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got it, and Voldemort was there. Quick-"

He tried to get out of bed, but found himself to be too weak to manage.

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind on the times. It has been a most worrying five days. Voldemort does not have the stone, and alas, Professor Quirrell is dead."

"Dead?" asked Harry, "then I…"

The Professor's face became grave. "You are not responsible for his death, my boy. Your actions, which saved yourself and the Stone, did do irreparable damage to Quirrineus. However, it was Voldemort fleeing his body that sealed his fate. You see, Voldemort is as merciful to his followers as he is to his enemies."

"I see," said Harry, troubled. "And the Stone?"

"The stone has been destroyed. Voldemort will never again have a chance to use it."

Harry's eyes widened. "But your friend, Mr. Flamel-"

"You know about him, then?" asked Professor Dumbledore, seeming quite pleased. "You did do things properly, didn't you? Well, Harry, Nicholas and I met with each other while you were unconscious. We agreed that it would be for the best."

"They're going to die then?" asked Harry.

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Harry's shock must have shown on his face, for Professor Dumbledore continued. "To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all - the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

"Sir… you said that Voldemort had fled Professor Quirrell. That means he's still out there, doesn't it?"

"Indeed, Harry. He is still out there, perhaps looking for another body to share… not being truly alive, he cannot be killed as he is. However, he is weaker now than he was before. I do not believe you will have to worry about him for some time."

"Harry nodded at the reassurance; briefly though, because it made his head hurt.

"Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me… things I want to know the truth about."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

Somehow, Dumbledore's promise to not lie was ominous to Harry, what if Dumbledore did tell him a terrible truth? There were a dozen things Harry wanted to ask about, but one thing took precedence: the Voice. As though it had heard this thought, the voice spoke up, though far quieter than before. 'He would kill you, if he knew the truth. He would destroy you to destroy me.'

Another voice spoke up against the first, louder, one of his own, though it sounded suspiciously like Hermione's. 'Dumbledore would never do that. He's the greatest sorcerer alive.' Perhaps it sounded a bit like Hagrid at the end.

Harry swallowed, nearly as afraid as he had been when he had faced Voldemort.

"When I was fighting with Professor Quirrell," he said quietly, "I heard a voice. Not yours, or Quirrell's, or Voldemort's, not really. It was in my head. He said I could only get rid of him by dying. Him, the Voice, I mean. And then he said he could make me powerful if I embraced him." Professor Dumbledore looked shocked, a look that Harry could not have imagined, but Harry pressed on. "I heard it when I was unconscious too, and I can still hear it. And, well, he sounds like Voldemort did." Professor Dumbledore drew in a sharp breath. "So I suppose my question is, could there be a part of Voldemort in me, in here?" He touched a hand to his scar.

"I don't believe…" Professor Dumbledore started, perhaps remembering his promise. A non response was no option to a yes-or-no question either. Instead he said. "That is not a question that I can begin to answer reliably. However, yes," he said gravely, "it is a possibility."

"Oh," said Harry. He had been expecting the answer. Had he thought that the truth would make him feel better? He had defeated Voldemort, again, he should feel elated. All he felt though was a sense of dread growing in the pit of his stomach.

"How can we be sure though," said Harry. "Maybe I'm crazy." It didn't occur to him to think it odd that he was wishing himself insane.

"I do not believe that you are crazy, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "However, there is a way to find out."

"How," asked Harry, certain that he wouldn't like surety any more than he did mystery.

"It is quite simple, my boy. Calm your mind, focus on the memory in question, and look into my eyes."

Harry wondered what could possibly be simple about calming his thoughts at a time like this. He closed his eyes, and tried to quell the tide of thought and emotion in his mind. Seeing him getting nowhere, Professor Dumbledore spoke again.

"Take slow, deep breaths, Harry. In through the nose, out through the mouth… that's it." He spoke in a remarkably calm and slow voice himself. "Imagine your breath entering your body and massing in your center. Feel it cleanse your chest of all impurity, to be expelled when you let out your next breath." He went on like that for another minute longer, before Harry felt he could look the man in his eyes.

"Now Harry, I'm sure you have guessed what it is I mean to do?"

"You're going to read my mind," Harry suggested.

"In a manner of speaking," said Dumbledore, genially. "You will see flashes of memory. I promise that I will only look to the pertinent information. All that you must do is remain calm. Keep breathing as I have instructed."

Harry nodded, and the Professor muttered a word under his breath that Harry couldn't make out. Suddenly, it was as though Harry was back in the room with Professor Quirrell and Voldemort, even though he could still feel the mattress underneath him.

'Naïve boy…' he heard the voice again as he relived the last moments with Voldemort, and then the moment where the voice had spoken up only minutes prior.

Suddenly he was back in the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore looked down at him sadly. "I am sorry, my boy. You are most assuredly sane."

Harry swallowed, and it felt as though there was something stuck in his throat. "Is that why he didn't die that night? Did he get stuck on me?"

"I'm afraid that a piece of Voldemort's soul may have somehow torn off from the whole and imbedded itself here," he said, pointing to Harry's scar. "If that's true, then yes, you are helping to keep him alive."

Harry looked away. "He said that you would kill me in order to destroy him. Is that the only way?"

"I do not know enough to answer that, Harry, but-"

"I want to be alone," said Harry, not knowing if he could stand to hear what Dumbledore might say. In his heart, he knew it to be true.

Dumbledore nodded somberly and stood, turning to leave, but he paused after taking a step.

"You never asked why Professor Quirrel was unable to touch you Harry," he said without turning back around. "I believe that on that night ten years ago, your mother willingly sacrificed her own life to save your own. That sacrifice, her love, latched on to you and kept you safe from Voldemort. Quirrel, so corrupted, could not stand to be in contact with something so pure. This protection is strengthened by a charm I placed on your Aunt's house, based on the common blood between her and her sister. Unless I am much mistaken, you will stop hearing the voice again when you return home. It should also lose it's awareness of your thoughts and surroundings."

Harry didn't say anything to reply, and Dumbledore walked out of the infirmary. Alone, Harry curled up on his side.

!

Hermione bit her lip anxiously as she watched Harry pick despondently at his food during the leaving feast. She'd never seen him like this, not even after they had lost so many points for Gryffindor. What could have possibly happened in that last chamber to have affected him so? He had won after all, and he hadn't been so terribly hurt.

Of course, he'd already told them what had happened, and there didn't seem to be anything missing from his retelling, but then what was it? She had wondered if he had been upset by Quirrell's death, but he hadn't seemed so upset about that part when he had told them about it. And that worried her. Not that Harry should be overly affected by Quirrell's death; as awful as it was, Harry had done what he had to. What worried her was that something much more awful must have happened if Quirrell's death didn't give him pause.

Hermione watched as Harry put a small smile on his face at something Ron had said, but it didn't reach his eyes. She sighed. She had been quite surprised to learn that it had been Quirrell after the stone, but it put a lot into perspective actually. She hadn't told anyone, but she had written Professor Snape a thank you card for what she now knew had been his attempts to keep Harry alive during the quidditch match. She left out the part where she had been the one to set his robes on fire; he didn't really need to know about that part. So far, the Professor hadn't acknowledged the card, which she supposed made sense; just because he was one of the good guys didn't make him any more pleasant.

Then, Professor Dumbledore did something wonderful. Oh not the points for Ron, Harry, and her, but giving Neville those points and letting him be the one that swung the balance of points in Gryffindor's favor. She had felt horrible hexing him before in the Gryffindor common room, and she had already apologized, but this had to be so much better than her apology. She saw Harry grin and slap Neville on the back, and she just knew that he would be okay. He was sensitive for a boy, and he probably was upset over Quirrell and trying not to let on, but he'd feel better in time.

!

Harry knew that Voldemort was in his head. He accepted the fact that he was probably keeping the man who had murdered his parents alive. But did that all mean that he had to die to kill Voldemort once and for all? Harry turned over restlessly in bed, his mind full of thoughts he couldn't stop. As soon as he put one down, he found another had taken it's place.

Hagrid had told him that Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard there was, the only one that Voldemort had ever been afraid of, but he couldn't tell him if he had to die or not. But surely, surely he could find a way. He'd done so many amazing things already, surely he could save one little boy. Surely if anyone deserved a break, it was him.

'Idiot', he thought to himself angrily; life didn't work like that. 'Fool,' he heard the voice whisper weakly. Suddenly, he felt a pain well up in his chest as though he were going to burst. Harry landed on the floor next to his bed in a sprawl and ran shakily to the bathroom, his chest heaving as though it could not take in enough oxygen. Taking refuge in the closest shower stall, Harry pounded on the wall as he started to weep on the floor. Never before in his rotten life had he felt such grief. Letting his hands fall, Harry let out a low cry before working to take in some deep breaths. Either he died, or Voldemort lived; that's all there was to it. Somehow, the knowledge calmed him, but it didn't stop the flow of tears down his face or the shaking of his shoulders. What would happen now?

!

Albus watched the children make their way to the carriages that would take them down to Hogsmeade station. His impulse had been to keep Harry from the Dursleys, he knew that they would be no help in this difficult time. He could find a way to allow Harry to stay in the castle, or perhaps foster him off on the Weasleys or Grangers but, as always, taking care of Harry meant choosing the lesser of two evils. Harry needed the protection offered by his Aunt's blood now more than ever.

Albus was nearly certain now that Harry was a Horcrux. That meant that there were likely no good options for Harry anymore. Albus feared now that it would come down between the life of one boy, and the fate of the wizarding world.


	2. 01 Parting

Parting

Outside the window, the countryside passed lazily by. Harry, his head against the glass, angled his eyes down and looked at the blur of the ground that ran along the train tracks. Between the two, a fence hurried by a few feet away. Harry returned his gaze to the countryside. The pain he had felt the night before was a dull ache now, and Harry felt as though he were traveling through a fog; it was a wonder he had managed to get all of his things packed in time for the train, even with Ron's help.

Clutched tightly in his lap, Harry held the photo album that Hagrid had given him before he had boarded the train. It was a compilation of pictures of his parents, some of them he understood to be from when they were Harry's own age. The giant of a man had meant to give it to Harry in the infirmary, but Harry hadn't been up to visitors then. It was a wonderful gift, but though he had spent long minutes gazing at the picture on the first page, the two of them together sitting by the Great Lake, Harry hadn't been able to look past it.

In the background of his mind, Harry was vaguely aware of his two friend's bickering over one thing or another. Harry kept his eyes on the mountain range in the distance; for how long he didn't know. He was finally pulled out of his trance as the sun finally crept out past a gap in the mountain range, it's light flashing painfully into his eyes. Harry finally turned away from the window, blinking a few times to rid himself of the bright spot hanging before him.

"Say Ron," he at last said out loud.

"Yeah, mate?" said Ron, and he must have been tired of his argument with Hermione, for he gave Harry his full attention.

"What was it like…" Harry started, but corrected himself, "Do you know what it was like, when Voldemort was in power?"

Ron flinched at the mention of the dreaded name, and now gave his shoes more attention than either Harry or Hermione. After a moment he shrugged and said, "It was terrible, wasn't it. People who stood up to him were killed right and left. My uncles, my mum's brothers, they were twins like Fred and George. I think she kind of named them after her brothers; Fabian and Gideon, you see? They fought against You-Know-Who and his followers. But a couple of months before you defeated You-Know-Who, they fell into a trap by a few of his followers and died. They went down swinging though, took out three of their attackers."

"What happened to the others?" asked Hermione, who was just as transfixed by the story as Harry was.

"One of them's in prison," said Ron, "will be forever. The other one just disappeared. Could be dead, I guess." He shrugged again. "Mum was real close to them, she can still hardly stand to talk about them. I heard most of the story from my oldest brother Bill."

"That's awful," said Harry, thinking of the jumper that Mrs. Weasley had knitted him, a gift he treasured nearly as much as his invisibility cloak. He tried to imagine what it would be like to lose a sibling like that. He supposed that it would probably be something like losing Ron or Hermione.

"That's You-Know-Who," said Ron grimly. "But I guess you already knew that."

"Yeah," said Harry.

"I don't know," said Ron, "I guess you'd have to ask someone older to know what it was really like living back then. But why do you want to know? You defeated him again, right? I mean, we don't have to worry about that stuff anymore."

"He'll be back," said Harry with more confidence than he wished he felt. "Someday, somehow, he'll find a way."

Ron and Hermione traded looks.

"Do you really think so, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah," said Harry, once again looking at the slowly passing mountains. "I do." He didn't speak for the rest of the journey.

They arrived at Kings Cross station an hour later, and Ron was the first to find his family. Harry and Hermione gathered in with all of the Weasleys, the youngest of which, a girl, Harry was still somehow surprised was more interested in him than in her newly returned brothers.

Harry took the opportunity to thank Mrs. Weasley for thinking of him during Christmas, and received a hug in turn. It was a wonderful thing, but Harry couldn't help but wonder what she would think of him if she knew that he was keeping the monster that had had her brothers killed alive. A part of him felt as though he really didn't deserve her affection.

'You don't,' said the Voice slyly. 'they would never accept you.'

He took a step back from the rest of the group.

"I have to find the Dursleys," he explained.

His family wasn't all that hard to find, for all that they tried to be normal, they stuck out wherever they went. Harry gave a wave to get their attention, and his Uncle stalked over to them.

"What are you waiting for, then? We don't have all day."

"Yeah," said Harry, grabbing his things.

"You must be Harry's Uncle," said Mrs. Weasley after a moment's shock.

"I suppose so," said Uncle Vernon. "Come on, boy," he said, dismissing Mrs. Weasley and turning away.

Harry gave a morose wave to all of his friends who waved back, clearly worried about him. Harry turned away from them and followed his family.

!

Not much had changed at Privet Drive. Really, if anything was different, Harry didn't notice. All he knew was that he was more miserable there than he had ever been before.

All of Harry' school things had been locked away in the cupboard under the stairs, including his wand. The Dursleys seemed to be more spiteful than ever, as though they took Harry's new attitude personally. Sometimes, Harry wanted to shout at them in frustration that it wasn't fair that they should be so mean to him when he was already carrying a piece of Voldemort's soul in him, but a niggling voice in the back of his mind, one of his own, pointed out that maybe he deserved it.

One good thing about his return to Privet Drive was that the Voice had finally disappeared. The protection that Professor Dumbledore had promised had worked as soon as Harry had walked into the house. It was as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was a small comfort though; Harry knew that the piece of Voldemort's soul was still there, knew that there was only one way to resolve the situation once and for all.

Though the absence of the Voice had seemed to improve his disposition for a while, the Dursleys had quickly seen to it that the change was only temporary. Unfortunately, it seemed that the worse Harry felt, the worse the Dursleys were to him.

"Don't give me that look, boy," his Aunt Petunia said as she gave him some of his cousin's old cast off clothes to wear, "you're lucky for everything you get from us." She gave him a very severe scowl to drive her point home.

Harry actually didn't give his relatives many looks at all. However, for all that they denied that they deserved them, they didn't seem capable of understanding that anything but themselves could have caused them. When Harry bothered to spend time thinking on it, he would consider that this was quite unfair.

Through his lonely days, Harry hoped for word from his friends. Anything would suffice. A quick, 'Hey Harry, we're enjoying our summer here, hope you're doing the same,' he was sure would have helped to ground him; make the world seem right again. But after two weeks, Harry had heard nothing from his friends. It was as though all he had carried away from his time at Hogwarts was a death sentence.

Perhaps his friends were just having too much fun with their summer vacation, maybe it was too soon to expect anything. Harry couldn't find out, as his own owl Hedwig had been locked up by his Uncle on the first day of vacation.

In an effort to combat what she saw as a disrespectful attitude, Aunt Petunia had put Harry to work around the house. Not enjoying his company, she made sure that most of the work was outside. This still required too much oversight on her part though, and Harry soon found himself without any more chores than he used to. It was a pity, as the labor actually had improved his mood. Soon though, Harry was back to doing nothing as he whiled away time in his room.

Harry's Aunt, perhaps still thinking that he needed to be made to do something, had then unceremoniously dumped some of Dudley's old school texts on Harry's desk, and told him to learn something normal for a change. Harry's own school texts were locked up with all of his other school supplies, leaving him unable to do his homework. He flipped through a couple, and even did a few math problems before losing interest. His Aunt never bothered to check, and the texts lay unused on the corner of Harry's desk.

!

Albus Dumbledore was having a bad summer. There had been so much promise after Harry's victory, but everything had turned sour. Now he was shirking his other duties by devoting himself to studying Harry's situation.

He had been so clever, and events had nearly unfolded perfectly. There had been one nearly fatal mistake, but everything had still managed to work out as he had hoped.

It had all begun nearly two years ago, when Quirinus Quirrell had returned from his sabbatical to resume his position as the Professor of Muggle Studies. He had returned changed. Too changed. His act may have worked on those who did not know him, but Albus had not been fooled. Over the school year, Quirrrell's behavior had only made him more suspicious, and eventually Ligilimency had confirmed what he had already suspected. Qurinus was working for Voldemort. The fool was to cement himself as a spy among Albus's trusted ranks, while Voldemort bided his time for the right moment to secure the means for his resurrection: The Philosopher's stone.

Knowing that the Flamel residence was not as secure as it needed to be, Albus had had the stone sent to Gringotts, even as he began devising a more secure way to store it. Meanwhile, he began plotting another plan, one that revolved around Harry Potter.

It had been nine and a half years since Albus had left Harry on the doorstep of the Dursleys, and Mrs. Figg had only reported good things on the boy's character. Still, there was too much that Albus did not know. Far too much. Harry was the subject of a vitally important prophecy, and Albus needed to know what he was working with.

That summer, Albus made his opening move when he transferred Quirrell to Defense Against the Dark Arts. The man saw it as a promotion, and quickly went to see his master. Voldemort knew though that the position was cursed, knew that Dumbledore knew. Voldemort knew that Quirrell was now useless as a spy, and so he made his move for the stone. Albus had made his next move already though, and Hagrid had taken the stone to Hogwarts, removing it from Gringotts right in front of Harry.

For the time being, Dumbledore was possessed of a singular opportunity, upon which everything relied. Lilly's sacrifice protected Harry entirely from Voldemort. Were the two to find themselves in a confrontation, the worst case scenario would involve neither party coming off much the worse for the wear. Best case would see Voldemort somehow vanquished by Harry's unknown power. For the time being, Voldemort did not know about the protection that Albus had helped seal around Harry, but whichever happened, Albus would see what was at Harry's core.

Albus had arranged clues for the boy through the whole year. Beginning with the trip to Gringotts, Albus had later left a clipping concerning the break in on Hagrid's table on the day he knew that Harry and his friends would be visiting him. After, he had given Harry the invisibility cloak and Harry had naturally used it to sneak around, Severus had been perfectly positioned to herd Harry towards the Mirror of Erised. Arranging for Harry to learn about Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest had been a risky move, and would not have been possible without Firenze's help, but was well worth it.

Albus had left other clues through the year, some Harry had picked up on, some he hadn't, but it had been enough. Harry had performed admirably through the year, from being sorted to Gryffindor (though Albus had noticed how long it took the hat to make it's decision), to the troll incident; allowing a confrontation between Harry and Voldemort had nearly been redundant. But when Albus had been called to the Ministry, he had allowed things to play out.

Harry and his friends had done exactly as he had planned, performing well through the obstacles. Albus had ensured that there was only ever one dose of the potion allowing entry to the mirror chamber. Only Harry had the protection, after all.

But there had been one nearly fatal flaw in Albus's plan, and it had been to underestimate Harry. He had arranged to show Harry the Mirror of Erised so that he would not be distracted by anything he might see in it. He had not expected though, for Harry to be able to use that knowledge to retrieve the stone. Albus had never expected an eleven year old's greatest desire to be to protect the stone from Voldemort, without even a hint of a thought as to the stone's use. In that moment, Harry had shown perfectly what Albus had wanted to see, and it had nearly killed him. Instead of firing a single curse at Harry, Quirrell had tried to physically take the stone from Harry, and the effort involved in that struggle had nearly drained Harry completely. Albus had just arrived in time to stop that from happening. All because Harry was a far better person at eleven years old than most of the grown people that Albus knew.

That was what made Harry's situation all the worse. Albus was certain now that Harry was a Horcrux. Unfortunately, the information Albus had to go on was sparse. Fifty years ago, before Albus had become headmaster, there had been a number of books in the restricted section of the library that contained information on Horcruxes. One even went so far as to explain the process of making them. Albus had since removed them, but he had been able to confirm that Tom had read them all.

Albus had never been able to confirm that Voldemort had made one, after all it was one of the most destructive things that a wizard could do to himself. He now had confirmation though, through Harry. From his research and deduction, Albus was now certain of three things. Voldemort could not have accidentally created a Horcrux; though Harry was certainly not his intended recipient, Voldemort had clearly intended to create a Horcrux that night. More importantly, it was doubtful that Voldemort would use the murder of the one with the power to defeat him as the basis for his first Horcrux , he would have already been assured of his own ability to survive the encounter, no matter how easy it would seem to kill an infant, which meant he had already created another Horcrux. This put everything into perspective. How else could the Horcrux ritual have been accidentally completed without Voldemort intending it? Voldemort hadn't just created one Horcrux, he had created many, horribly destabilizing his soul. The question was, how many?

This was good news for Harry, in a way. The boy was not the only thing keeping Voldemort alive. But still, what was to be done about Harry? Albus was fairly certain that there was no way to save Harry, the literature all agreed that the vessel had to be destroyed beyond hope of repair. This wouldn't stop Albus from searching for a way of course, but he held little hope.

This left Albus in a terrible situation, the likes of which he had never faced. He had made many bad decisions in his youth, some even later in life, but here he felt he would be damned no matter what he did, if he wasn't already. Barring a miracle, Harry would need to be sacrificed to end Voldemort, the only other option was that Albus let the world eventually fall to Voldemort. Logically, there was only one option, but Albus prided himself by living by more than logic. What truly made things bitter though, was that Albus was fairly certain that Harry would not need to be convinced to sacrifice himself, he would just need the situation laid out for him, and he would choose to do the noble thing. Why did the destruction of the worst the wizarding world could produce, require the sacrifice of the best?

!

His Aunt had kicked him out of his room and sent him to the back garden. Apparently, his room smelled like it had been occupied for too long by a lazy and over heated boy for most of the Summer, and the smell was creeping out into the rest of the house. Personally, Harry thought that she wouldn't have gone through the trouble, content to watch her nephew stew, if it weren't for the Masons coming to dinner the next day, his birthday. After having him take his laundry and bed sheets to the washing machine, she told him that he needed to let his room air out. Harry was sure that he didn't smell that bad, though it had been four days since his last shower. Alright, so he was a little ripe, but his Aunt hadn't needed to go on about how it was just like him, and it showed a great deficit in character. It had been going too far to compare Harry unfavorably to Dudley in manners of hygiene.

Harry took a seat in the dirt next to a neatly trimmed bush, his back up against the back wall of the house. He pulled up his knees, crossed his arms over them, and put his head down. He was angry; he couldn't help it. He had thought the painful grief he had been feeling would last forever, especially without his friends there to distract him, but apparently anger could supplant it. It was all the Dursley's fault. Oh, not that he had a part of Voldemort in him of course, but he knew that they would be just as cruel to him if they knew. Ten and a half years ago, Harry had decided, they had had an opportunity to make his short life a little worth while. That was what his mother had died for, wasn't it? She had sacrificed her life so that Harry could live, not so that he could be kept as down trodden as possible. He'd had ten years of misery in his life, with Hogwarts being the only highlight, and that was the Dursley's fault.

They had been even worse lately, making snide comments to Harry whenever they saw him, reminding him that he had no one. Dudley especially would come into his room and taunt him whenever he was feeling bored. He was quick to point out that no one had contacted Harry all summer. It was true too, his friends still hadn't contacted him, and surely there could be no good excuses after this much time. Was it his fault? Had he been too distant with them in those last few days, too cold? Had they decided that he was too sad to be around? Or maybe they could tell that there was something really wrong with him; they couldn't know what, but instinctively they might know that he was tainted somehow. It was probably for the best that they distance themselves from him.

Harry wanted to scream out at the injustice of it all, but an even stronger desire to not be seen in pain overrode his vocal cords. Instead he picked up his head, twisted around, and punched the wall he had been leaning against. Now he did howl out in pain, though he quickly clamped his mouth shut as he waved his hand in the air. That had hurt, a lot. Stupid wall. Stupid Dursleys.

Cradling his injured hand in his lap, Harry laid his head once more on his good arm and wished that something would change.

!

One day before Harry would riddle his wand hand with microscopic fractures, Ron found himself sitting down to a large family breakfast, as he had every morning previous during his summer break.

"Ronnie, dear, where did you send Errol off to? He really should have gotten back by now."

Ron felt the tips of his ears go red, and said, "Just off to Hermione, Mum," as nonchalantly as he could.

"And where's Hermione, then?" asked his mother. "Errol was back within a day the last time you sent her a letter."

"Er, she might be in Switzerland with her parents," Ron muttered.

"Switzerland! You sent Errol to Switzerland!" His mother could get very loud when she was displeased with her boys. Ron found himself wiggling a finger in the ear closest to his mother.

"Well, I'm worried about Harry, aren't I," he said defensively. "Maybe she's heard something from him."

He really hoped that she had. The twin's plan to fly their Dad's car to Little Whinging was pretty cool, but also a little riskier than Ron would have liked.

"You shouldn't be so worried," his mother said. "When Charley first went off to Hogwarts, he hardly sent us one note in two months. Just give him some time, dear."

"We have given him time, Mum, we've also begged him to send us anything in reply. He hasn't sent us so much as a toothpick, let alone two words to let us know he's okay. I know it's not Errol's fault, because he's managed to get letters to Hermione, and she lives further away than Harry does."

His mother's lips pressed together. "I know dear, and that's why your father and I are planning to go check up on him ourselves in a few days, when your father gets some time off at work. You've waited all Summer, you can wait a little more. You certainly don't need to go sending poor Errol half way across the continent. It'll be a miracle if he can manage to get back without having a heart attack."

Ron bowed his head a little, blushing. His mother ran a hand through his hair. "I'm glad that you're concerned for your friend, Ron, but do use your head."

"Yeah, Ron," said Fred, "you wouldn't want to be haunted by a vengeful owl ghost for the rest of your life."

"Who, who, who sent me to my death?" George chimed in a shrill voice.

"That's enough, boys," scolded their mother.

"I do hope Harry's okay," said Ginny, who was pushing food around on her plate morosely.

"I'm sure he is," their mother said sweetly. "Now eat up, you don't want to grow up to be as short as your Aunt Enid." Their Aunt Enid was a head shorter than Ron was now.

Ginny had been acting weird all summer, asking question after question about Harry. In Ron's opinion, his sister was obsessed. It was bad enough she'd heard all the stories about Harry growing up, now she'd heard the ones from Ron when he had gotten back from school. Of course, he'd had to swear her to secrecy about some of them. He'd get grounded for half the Summer if his mother found out all of the things he'd been up to during the school year. Not that she hadn't fretted terribly over him because of the whole stone ordeal, and the troll, but apparently it didn't count as rule breaking if you got awarded points for it. He hoped she never learned how many times he'd been out wandering at night, or his exploits with an illegal dragon.

Errol chose then to swoop into the kitchen crash landing on the table. Ron was fervently wishing he had come in five minutes sooner as he untied the letter from his leg.

"So?" asked Fred. "Are you going to be haunted by an owl?" he sounded almost eager.

"Errol's just fine," said his mother, who had picked up Errol and was carrying him over to his cage. "He's just resting. Well Ron, has Hermione heard from Harry?"

"No," said Ron as he scanned the letter disappointedly. "She says that she's getting a little worried too." She also wrote that he shouldn't do anything rash, and that he should let his parents deal with it. She pointed out that it wouldn't do to get Harry into any trouble in the process of rescuing him from his relatives. She was right of course, but Ron was determined. If his parents didn't go to get Harry before they had a chance to slip out, then the plan was still on.

!

After his Aunt had decided things had aired out enough a few hours later, Harry was allowed back inside, with instructions to take a shower, and then finish his laundry. She'd sniffed disdainfully at the sight of his dirty clothes though, and made sure he brushed himself off before coming into the house. When Harry was no longer likely to carry dirt through the house to his Aunt's satisfaction, he was allowed to trudge upstairs to the bathroom. Grumpily, Harry took his clothes off and turned the shower on hot.

It was the best thing he had done in days, if not weeks. Harry spent a full ten minutes sitting on the shower floor as the hot water ran over him before he set about actually cleaning himself. Normally, his Aunt didn't let him spend so much time in the shower, but either she was too busy getting ready for the Masons tomorrow, or she was letting him make up for all of the time he had spent so far not cleaning himself. No one bothered him though, and for once he took as long as he wanted while on Privet Drive. Harry didn't know why, but warm water made everything better; that or being naked, but Harry was pretty sure it was the former. It was as though everything just melted away, and got swept down the drain.

It was a good twenty minutes later that Harry stepped out of the shower. He brushed his teeth, with his good hand, before wrapping a towel securely around himself so he could go back to his room. He stepped out of the bathroom, still drying his hair with another towel, when he collided with something very large, and he knew it had to be either his Uncle or his cousin. Taking a step back, Harry pulled the towel off of his head and saw his Uncle, who was getting a good bluster going.

"Out of my way, boy," his Uncle said, and with a big hand on Harry's bare shoulder, he pushed him into the wall to step past him. "And put some damned clothes on." It was as though the magic of the shower had evaporated like water on hot asphalt.

"You can't do that," Harry said crossly. "Don't treat me like I'm nothing!"

His Uncle turned, and planting his fingers square on Harry's chest, shoved him again. "Piss off!" he said angrily. "Shut up, and go to your room." He turned around again.

Harry saw red. "Bastard!" he cried, as every ounce of self preservation he had flew out the window. He launched himself at his Uncle, his small fists flying, his hair-drying towel landing discarded on the ground. "It's all your fault," cried Harry, as his fists pounded ineffectually on his Uncle. "I hate you, I hate you."

His Uncle turned to face Harry, enraged, and backhanded Harry, who went sprawling. Not hearing the spittle laced invectives his Uncle was screaming at him, Harry just launched himself once more.

As a scrawny soon-to-be-twelve year old, his fists were little more than an annoyance to his large uncle, but that didn't stop a furious Vernon from picking Harry bodily up by an arm and a leg and swinging him head first into the door jamb of Dudley's room. There was a sickening crunch, and before Harry could so much as see stars, his world went dark.

!

Vernon stared, stupefied at his nephew's prone form. He had known in an instant that he had gone too far. He had never hurt the boy so badly, not like this. Sure, there had been slaps, shoves, and the occasional kick or punch when he was being more terrible than usual. There had even been one time when he had picked the boy up by the arm too roughly, and there had been a wet snap. A playground accident, they had told the doctor. He had never felt sorry about any of it, it was better than the boy deserved, but this… He bent down and felt at the boy's neck. There was still a pulse.

He heard footsteps coming up the steps and he straightened up as his wife came into view at the end of the hallway. She stopped short when she saw the scene in front of her.

"He went mad," said Vernon. "He attacked me."

His wife looked terrified, and he felt very guilty then. He would do anything for her happiness.

"Vernon, what are we going to do?" she asked as she came closer.

"We… we can't take him to the hospital," said Vernon. "Whatever happens to him there, it will be bad for us. How could we explain what he's like?"

"Then what?"

"I'll put him in his cupboard," said Vernon. "We'll tell people he's gone off visiting friends for the rest of the summer. You heard that man," there was only one man that Vernon spoke of in that tone, "if a car crash can't kill these people, then maybe he'll just get better. No one would be the wiser, then."

"What if he doesn't?" asked Petunia.

"Then no one will be the wiser," said Vernon darkly.

Petunia hesitated but nodded shortly. She backed away, and turned around to go back to her kitchen. Vernon stooped down and picked up the boy. There was a small trickle of blood running down from his scalp, and for a moment, he hoped that the boy never did wake up.

A/N: Poor Harry! I'll make it up to him later though: IOU one normal life.

Giving credit where it's due, much of Dumbledore's scene in this chapter is inspired by John Kearns's essay _Philosopher__'__s__Stone__-__Dumbledore__'__s__Perspective,_which can be found at the website for the Harry Potter Companion.


	3. 02 Frantic

Disclaimer: I do not own this. JK Rowling is said to. Please read and Review.

Frantic

Albus watched the owl speed off into the distance, his thoughts on the recipient. He had not originally intended to correspond with Harry during summers, but felt that the situation had changed enough to warrant a different approach. Albus was most likely the only person that knew of Harry's condition, for he doubted that the boy had confided in his friends so soon. That knowledge gave Albus a certain measure of responsibility when it came to Harry, and he felt it only appropriate to check in on him on his birthday.

His most recent report from Arabella Figg was distressing, as not once had she seen the boy leave the property. Only the day before had one of her cats seen Harry in the back yard, and he had in fact punched a wall. Not a promising sign; Harry was clearly not dealing well with his situation, though he could hardly be blamed for it. Albus had sent Harry a small vial of potion that would heal small injuries. A just-in-case practical birthday present, he had explained in the letter, though of course it was for any injury Harry may have done to his hand.

He had also assured Harry that he was doing everything in his power to learn more about his situation, though he was careful to word it as 'what we discussed at the end of the school year'. The boy may have been overwhelmed with information in the beginning, but Albus felt it likely that he would want more as he began to process what he already knew. He already intended to meet with Harry at the start of the next year, Harry needed to know that he was not the only thing keeping Voldemort alive.

When the owl had disappeared into the horizon, Albus turned back to his desk. He had work he needed to get out of the way for the next school year, before he could return his attention to more pressing matters. He hoped that the next school year wasn't too late to approach Harry.

!

Dobby appeared with a pop in the great Harry Potter's bed room. It was empty, as Dobby had hoped. He looked around in disgust. Aside from being inferior to Master Draco Malfoy's room, and surely the great Harry Potter should live in greater luxury than any of his masters, it wasn't nearly suitable for the great Harry Potter, who had killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was messy, dirty, small for a human, and very poorly furnished. It made Dobby angry at Harry Potter's muggle relatives, but most of what he saw them do made him angry. They clearly did not appreciate Harry Potter properly.

Dobby had been watching Harry Potter for most of the summer on his master's orders. He had intercepted and copied Harry Potter's mail on his master's orders. He followed all of his master's orders, so that his master could be in Diagon Alley when Harry Potter was there, so that he could give Harry Potter a book that would make most terrible things happen. Little did his master know, but Dobby had his own plans. Dobby watched Harry Potter to find the best moment to approach him. He intercepted and kept Harry Potter's mail, so that he would think that his friends had abandoned him. It was cruel, Dobby knew it, and punished himself for it even though he didn't have to, but it was better than letting Harry Potter fall to his master's plan, which would go on whether or not Harry Potter received the Diary himself.

Dobby waited, but Harry Potter did not show up. Dobby heard the Dursley's go to bed, but still nothing. After a while longer, Dobby knew he would have to go in search of Harry Potter; his master expected him home while Harry Potter was sleeping, so that he could do his duties. Quietly, Dobby left Harry Potter's bedroom and let his magic out to search for the nearest wizard. He followed the feeling that this generated down the stairs and to a cupboard. Dobby paused, puzzled. Was the great Harry Potter hiding in a cupboard? From what? Dobby easily opened the locked door and barely concealed his noise of horror. Those wicked, bad, nasty muggles! What had they done to the great Harry Potter?

Harry Potter was widely regarded as a hero and a savior among the house elves. They all knew that they would have been treated terribly under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's reign, and indeed, they were treated much better since his downfall. Not that Dobby was treated well; his master did not care how he was expected by the rest of society to treat a house elf. That didn't change that Harry Potter was a hero to Dobby, a great wizard that should have been cared for by his relatives. But they had hurt Harry Potter most terribly, and now he had been left to die in a cupboard like he was no better than the house elves that he had saved.

But as Dobby's horror subsided, he began to realize that this could be a good thing. Harry Potter could not go to either Hogwarts or Diagon Alley if he was unconscious and locked away. Dobby just had to make sure that he would survive the year. Sitting down against the cupboard doorway, Dobby plotted. Dobby needed to make sure that Harry Potter would not be able to wake, and to ensure that his condition did not get better or worse. He would be able to leave Harry Potter, and assure his master that Harry Potter was not leaving the house. But how?

Dobby wasn't capable of any spells that would accomplish this, and there was no wizard that he could bring that could. So what was he to do? And then it occurred to him, anyone could use a potion. Dobby stepped out of the cupboard and closed the door once more. He cast a muggle repelling charm on the door to keep Harry Potter's relatives away from him. With a pop, he disappeared and reappeared in his master's store room, where many potions were kept, meticulously labeled. Anxiously, making sure that no one was coming, Dobby looked around at all of the potions. Dobby didn't know what he would need, but wizards were clever about naming many of their potions, so that you knew what they did. There were so many, but as Dobby went through them alphabetically, he made sure to consider each one, to tell if it might work. When he had gotten through all of the potions, he had three that he thought might work: the Sleepless Stasis Tincture, Draught of the Living Death, and Morgana's Eternal Rest. Keeping these names in mind, Dobby ventured to his master's library, and pulled out what he knew to be a compendium of potions. Dobby ruled out the draught; Harry Potter would not be able to wake without the antidote being applied by the lips of a member of the opposite sex. Morgana's potion required an antidote that could no longer be made. The tincture was perfect though, it would slow everything down in Harry Potter's body, and could be reversed by a simple spell.

Dobby jumped off the manor roof twice in punishment for what he was about to do, but there was nothing for it, he had to steal the potion from his master. There were three vials of the potion, and Dobby took one of them before returning to Privet Drive. Reappearing directly in the cupboard, Dobby spelled the potion directly into Harry Potter's stomach. In five hours it would take full effect, but Dobby didn't have time to wait. Peering sadly at Harry Potter, Dobby disappeared from Privet Drive once more.

When Dobby returned to his master, he would tell him that Harry Potter's relatives had locked him up, and that they were not planning to let him go back to Hogwarts. He would have to keep intercepting Harry Potter's mail, of course, so no one got suspicious when their letters came back to them.

!

If Ron had never met Harry, this would probably be the coolest thing he had ever done. Though, come to think of it, he probably wouldn't be doing it if it weren't for Harry. The twins had taken the car out at night before, but they'd never brought Ron along. He only wished that it was all just for a lark, but he was actually very worried about Harry. What could have kept him from contacting them for so long? Harry was a good bloke, he wouldn't have just ignored his friends for so long unless he had to. He supposed it could have just been that his relatives, who Ron had the distinct impression he should greatly dislike, had forbidden him communication for whatever reason, but why would they? And what's more, he doubted that Harry would stand for that. Even if he couldn't use Hedwig, he'd find a way to use Errol.

Maybe Harry was just forbidden, but Ron had felt more and more sure as the summer went by that something was really wrong with Harry. He only hoped that they hadn't waited too long. It had been days since Harry had failed to send a letter of thanks for his birthday present, which Ron had specifically asked for. His parents had promised to go check on Harry as soon as his father had some time free, but with how much his father was working, that didn't look like it would ever happen. Tonight, they knew that their father wasn't likely to be back until morning, and their mother had gone to bed early. It was the perfect opportunity to slip out.

It was pretty amazing to be flying without a broom, and for a few moments at a time, Ron was able to pretend that he was on some grand adventure, and not a possibly too-late-rescue mission. He'd never flown over muggle cities at night, and they really lit up very nicely. It was an hours long journey to Privet Drive, and the Twins kept him occupied with a constant stream of dialogue. Much of it was made up of jokes that they would never have dared tell in front of their mother. It felt good to laugh though, and the closer Ron got to their destination, the more he was sure that everything was going to be alright.

When they got there, George tossed him a muggle torch that had been retrieved from their father's shed prior to the mission. "You'll check the bedrooms," he said quietly. "Shine it in real quick so you don't wake his relatives."

Ron nodded to show he understood, and Fred pulled up to the first window. Ron flashed the light for less than a second and saw a very cluttered room, filled with muggle objects that his father would have doubtless gone spare over. It wasn't Harry's room though, unless Harry had put on a dozen stone in a month. The lump on the bed was large enough to be a baby giant.

"This isn't it," he said to his brothers. Fred nodded and let the car creep forward to the next window. Ron flashed the light again, and seeing that the bed was empty, he turned it on again. The room was too neat and nice to be a boy's room, Ron guessed it was a guest room.

"Go on then," he whispered to Fred.

Fred let the car go a little faster and flew around to the front of the house, here they hit gold on the first window. This bed was empty as well, and further examination showed a messy but spartan room. Nothing personal, nothing comfortable, but there was an owl in a cage.

"This is it," Ron whispered. "But he's not here. And guys, Hedwig doesn't look so good." She really didn't. Even Errol was alert and active at this time of night, but Hedwig could barely get an eye open at them, and hardly moved. "What do we do?" asked Ron.

"There's nothing else for it," said Fred. "We have to go in and look around. I'll land in the back."

It seemed like such a stupid thing to do, flying a car to a muggle house in the middle of the night, and breaking in. But what else could they do? They knew something had to be wrong now. Harry would never take bad care of Hedwig.

As quietly as he could, Fred landed in the back yard and killed the engine. They gently opened their doors and left them open as they crept to the back door. George had him point the light as he pulled out his lock picking tools. Quicker than Ron would have suspected, the back door was open and they were standing in a very creepy kitchen.

"Weird," George whispered, and Ron nodded in agreement.

"Right," said Fred, "George and I'll go upstairs to have a look around, and get Hedwig. Maybe we'll find him hiding in the wardrobe, or gone to the bathroom."

"Why would you say 'hiding in the wardrobe' before 'gone to the bathroom'?" Ron asked.

"Does it matter?" George whispered shrilly. "This is some deep stuff here Ron, I'd like to see you do better."

"Whatever," said Ron, "let's just find Harry."

"Good," said George.

"You look around down here," said Fred.

Ron nodded and they parted ways. Walking around, Ron wondered if all muggle houses were this creepy, or if it was just houses owned by people like the Dursleys. Everything was so neat and square. Checking to see that the drapes were shut, Ron shone his light on the pictures in the living room. Harry was right, his cousin did look like a pig in a wig, Ron thought with a smile. His pictures were everywhere, and Ron couldn't see a single picture of Harry. If he hadn't seen Harry's room with Hedwig in it, he might have started to suspect that he had the wrong house. He kept wandering around, double checking the pantry, the dining room, the living room, and the down stairs bathroom. That was when he smelled it. Oh, it was appropriate for a bathroom: that distinct mix of odor caused by human waste and air fresheners, but it wasn't coming from the bathroom. Ron followed his nose until he was standing at a cupboard door under the stairs. It seemed very ominous to Ron.

Slowly, Ron opened the door, dreading what he might see. Of course, he didn't see a thing, as there wasn't any light, but the smell got stronger. Not really wanting to, Ron turned on the torch. His mouth fell open, and he stumbled back, tripping on his own feet. He fell to the ground and the torch clattered loudly away from him. It still managed to illuminate the terrible sight. There was Harry nearly naked, stewing in sweat and urine, laying awkwardly on his own school trunk. Ron swallowed the bile that tried to come up his throat, and scooted back from what he should never have had to see.

Silently but quickly, his brothers came down the stairs and rounded on him.

"What are you doing, Ron?" asked Fred, still managing to be scathing as he whispered. But George grabbed Fred's arm for he had seen what Ron was staring at.

"Merlin," Fred croaked.

For a horrible moment, they all just stood there and stared. Fred came to his senses first, and he looked murderous.

"Get him out of here," he told his brothers, "I'll go get Hedwig."

As though he actually could read his brother's mind George said, "There's no time to deal with the Dursleys. I'll get Hedwig and you get Harry."

Fred didn't argue, and George rushed up stairs. Together, Fred and Ron pulled Harry out of the cupboard. Fred took the heavier load, carrying Harry round the shoulders, while Ron got the feet. He still wanted to throw up, and he only hoped he didn't do so on Harry.

"Wait," he said, "the towel." The already loose covering had fallen off due to their manhandling.

"Forget the towel," said Fred angrily, "we have to get him out of here."

Ron didn't argue further, and together, they made their way stumbling out of the house. George caught up with them moments after they had cleared the back porch, carrying Hedwig without her cage.

"Guys," he said a little louder than they had dared in the house, "I think this counts as a reasonable exception." He pulled out his wand and cast "Mobilicorpus," and Harry floated up out of their arms. Ron ran forward to the car and held the door to the back seat wide open for George to float Harry in. They all scrambled into their seats as soon as Harry was secure, and Fred flew the car up into the sky.

George twisted around in his seat and pointed his wand at Harry. "Scourgify," he said, making Harry look and smell a little closer to normal.

"Which way to Saint Mungo's?" asked Fred loudly.

"Point Me Saint Mungo's," said George, and his wand spun around until it pointed just over Georges left shoulder. Fred turned the car around and sped off.

Not having anything else for it, Ron pulled off his t-shirt and laid it down on Harry, feeling sure that Harry would appreciate the gesture to protect his modesty. For maybe a minute, they all sat in silence, until George turned around in his seat and asked. "How is he?"

"I don't know," said Ron anxiously. "He's alive, I can tell that much." Harry's head rested on the edge of Ron's leg, and noticing the blood on his forehead, he poked around a little. "There's a dent in his scalp."

They were silent again for a moment. "That's not good then," said Fred.

"OF COURSE IT'S BLOODY WELL NOT GOOD!" shouted Ron.

"Alright, Ron," said George, "I don't think we should be trying to wake him up just yet."

"What if he doesn't wake up?" asked Ron.

"I'll tell you what'll happen," said Fred darkly. "Our next visit to the Dursleys' won't be nearly so quiet." The two other brother's nodded in agreement. It was much easier to focus their wrath on Harry's relatives, than to worry about whether or not Harry would be okay.

Of course, thoughts of vengeance could only last so long. The car ride was filled with miserable worrying, and there were many times that Ron managed to convince himself that his best friend was going to die there right next to him before they could get him to help. Fred had gotten very cross with him the seventh time he had told him to go faster.

"Don't you think I'd be going faster if I could? Just shut the bloody hell up and let me drive."

Finally, they got to where they were going, and Fred set them down in a dark alleyway. Not wanting to risk using magic in front of any muggles that might be wandering around, they carried him again out of the mouth of the alley. Coming closer to the fake storefront, they spotted two mediwizards standing outside in robes, looking around urgently.

"There they are," said the one closest to them, and they both ran over.

One of them cast mobilcorpus again, apparently not worried about being seen, and rushed off with Harry. "What happened?" demanded the other wizard.

"We found him like this," said Fred, "he's got a dent in his head, and he's been left alone for days."

The healer nodded, and went to follow the other healer into the hospital. They all chased after him, and Ron called out, "How did you know we'd be here?"

"Underage magic reported at the home of the Boy-Who-Lived?" said the healer over his shoulder, rounding a corner. "A mobilicorpus and a point-me to Saint Mungos? Of course we were told to be ready."

He rushed on, and they followed, but were eventually bounced off of a shield on an open doorway that led, they were sure, to where they were treating Harry. Looking around, they found themselves in a waiting room.

"Damn it," said Fred. "Alright," he thought for a moment. "George'll stay here, Ron, you Floo home to Mum. I'll get some water for Hedwig, and fly the car to the house. Make sure to bring back a few brooms, we don't want Dad to get in trouble for the car. Put them in the alleyway where we left the car."

"Why can't George go," asked Ron, "Harry's my best friend."

"Because Mum's more likely to listen to you first, without killing you," said George. "Plus, you're the one standing around without a shirt on.

"Now go on before I show you a charm that can turn your clothes into spiders," said Fred.

Ron grimaced. "Fine," he said, and stalked off to the lobby, Fred close on his heels. Taking a pinch of Floo powder, Ron stepped into the fireplace as Fred disappeared outside.

His mother was on top of him as soon as his world stopped spinning.

"Ronald Weasley, where have you been? Where are your brothers? Why've you come by Floo, where's the car? Where's your shirt?"

"Saint Mungo's," Ron stammered out.

"Saint Mung's?" his Mum asked, looking scared. "What's happened to your brothers? They haven't crashed the car, have they?"

"They're fine, Mum," Ron said, "it's not them. We went after Harry…"

"What's wrong with Harry dear?" his Mum asked cautiously.

Ron hadn't cried in front of his mother, or anyone for that matter, in quite a while now. In that moment though, he couldn't help it, as the whole night came crashing down on him.

"It was awful," he choked out as his Mum grabbed a hold of him. "They hurt him, and he's unconscious. They just left him lying in a cupboard without so much as a pair of shorts. It was awful, I've never seen something so awful."

"Alright, dear. Alright," his mother said, shaken. "Take a seat now. I'll fix you some tea while you tell me everything that's happened."

Ron nodded and let himself be herded to a seat at the kitchen table. He started telling the story of how they had taken the car out and found Harry's bedroom. How Hedwig had been poorly off, and there hadn't been a sign of Harry. She set some tea down in front of him and sat down next to him as he told of how they had snuck into the house. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he told her about how his nose had led him to Harry, and about their frantic trip to Saint Mungos.

When he had finished, she nodded and said, "Alright dear, now don't worry. Harry's in the best hands that he can be in, I'm sure he'll be fine. Now, let's- " Before she could finish what she was saying, an owl flew in and dropped a letter in front of her. She opened it quickly and scowled. "Underage magic warning," she said. "If they had sent this earlier, I would have known where to go. Right, let's get to Saint Mungo's."

"Wait," said Ron, "we need to get some brooms. Fred's bringing the car back so Dad doesn't get in trouble, and he said we should put some brooms in the alley where we parked the car in the first place."

His mother's lips tightened together. "That's a good plan," she said, "though I wish he'd put more thought into getting decent grades than into breaking the rules. Alright, you Floo call your father at his office, let him know we'll be at the hospital with Harry, and I'll wake Percy so he can swing some brooms by after we leave."

"You think he will?" His brother was a stickler for the rules.

"He will if I ask him to," said Molly, "now go on, and then go and get yourself a shirt."

With another pinch of Floo powder, Ron quickly passed the message on to his father before pulling his head out. He went upstairs for a shirt, and his mother was already back in the kitchen by the time he got back there. Percy came sleepily down the stairs after him.

"We probably won't be back in time for breakfast," his mother was telling Percy. "Make sure you make your sister and yourself something decent. And try not to worry her too much." She turned to Ron. "Go on then," said said.

Putting one more pinch of powder in to the fire place, Ron called out, "Saint Mungo's," and spun away again. When his mother came through as well, he sped off, leading her to where he'd left George.

George wasn't alone though, there was a scarlet robed man talking to him, and taking notes. Ron recognized the uniform of an Auror.

"There's my mum and my brother," George pointed.

"Mrs. Weasley," the Auror said. "I'm Auror Pritchard, I was sent to get statements. Is this Ronald then?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Ron. "Is Harry okay?"

"We haven't heard from the healers yet," he said and turned back to his mother. "I was just telling young George here that he shouldn't have left those brooms in the alleyway, most irresponsible. He can go get them while I get a statement from Ronald."

"Oh, yes," said Mum, "very irresponsible," she stressed the word, and George winced.

"Of course, they should never have ridden tandem with an unconscious boy," the Auror went on. "It would have been much safer to summon the night bus, and get a mediwizard to apparate over with a portkey."

"Fred's a good flyer," said George, and Ron could tell that he stressed the name Fred so that Ron could get it right when he talked to the Auror.

"Well of course Arthur and I will have to have a talk with them about what to do in emergencies."

"And where is Fred?" asked the Auror.

"Bathroom," said George, "he looked a little green, I think he'll need a moment."

The Auror nodded. "Good. Now, if I could just have a moment of Ronald's time?"

Ron felt miserable as he walked off with the Auror. He had hoped that they would have some information to go on by the time he got back to the hospital, but Harry could be dead by now, and he would have no idea. Ron decided then and there that he hated hospitals.

A/N: Not sure why the disclaimer is a haiku, it just sort of happened.


	4. 03 Remorse

Disclaimer: Quick check, have you given me any money? No? Why not? Oh right, I don't own the rights to Harry Potter. Stupid copyright law.

Remorse

As he slumped drowsily in the waiting room sofa, Ron pondered the nature of heroes and side-kicks. That was how things worked out, after all, when danger was afoot. Ron helped out, but Harry went on to fight the bad guy alone. Ron took an injury that took him out of the fight. Harry nearly died alone against evil. Was it the nature of side-kicks to sit and wait while the hero struggled to live?

Of course, Ron wouldn't split them up into such a relationship on a regular basis, Usually they were just mates, going to class and hanging out. Unfortunately, things tended to go pear shaped around Harry.

The problem, Ron thought, was that it wasn't like this in the stories. There were evil wizards and monsters, not violent muggle family. Even when the hero got injured, he'd at least look cool doing it, not…

They had only gotten an update on Harry an hour ago, a nurse had come out to tell them that he would live, but no more. No one had said that it wasn't any of there business, but they might as well have. Ron thought that if they were waiting for family members to talk to, they would have a very long wait. Fred and George had tried to get into the area where Harry was being kept, but had been caught at it by their mother. They were now passed out on the couch across from him, and his mum was off getting tea for all of them upstairs. For the time being, he was alone with his thoughts.

Ron didn't like any of this one bit; though that went without saying. The thing was, what was Ron to do about it? When Harry was better, (and he would be better, no matter the cold sliver of despair that was trying to worm its way in) he would of course be welcome to the Burrow, and Ron and his family would of course do what was needed to cheer him up. Quidditch came to mind. But what about the next time there was trouble? There would be a next time; Ron didn't fool himself into thinking that there wouldn't, though maybe he could keep it at bay by pretending that there wouldn't. He'd stand at his friend's side, whatever came; that's what friends did for each other. Or at least, that's what Weasley's did for their friends, and as had been pointed out by friend and foe alike, he was a Weasley through and through.

One worry that niggled at the back of his mind was that things might be awkward now, seeing as Ron had seen him the way he had been. Not that Ron had never seen Harry in the shower room and such, but it was different. There was a big difference between his best friend sprawled naked, bloody, unconscious, and smelling of his own urine, and his friend drying off after a shower. A real big difference, and Ron couldn't un-see it. The image would flare up in his mind any time his thoughts went anywhere near it, and it made him sick that Harry had been like that. Maybe Harry wouldn't realize that he had been like that, and Ron could pretend that it had never happened. Or if Harry did, he could just pretend like Ron. He'd have to get his brothers to agree not to bring it up.

Ron still couldn't un-see it, though maybe he just had to give it time. His mother came in levitating a tray of tea and biscuits, which she settled on the table in front of him. Quietly, and with a small but warm smile she handed him a cup of tea. She sat down next to him with a cup of her own as Ron took a whiff of sweet smelling steam. When she put an arm around him he pressed in closer, resting his head on her shoulder. Ron took a few sips of tea before setting it aside. He closed his eyes and his mind went blissfuly blank.

!

Alone in his office, Albus took a few moments to relax with his morning cup of tea. No research, no preparation for school, just his thoughts and a good view of the castle grounds. He had not made much more progress into Harry's condition, but he had arranged to have some new books sent to him, and he hoped to find new avenues to take his research. In the mean time, he had other work to catch up on: he was still Chief Warlock and Chief Mugwump, and summer was usually the time when he paid more attention to those duties.

Albus turned his gaze to the stack of paperwork he had on his desk and sighed. He hardly felt old, for all that he was, but he still wished that he could be younger to face his current troubles. It was not a feeling he was used to.

He was pulled out of his reverie when Minerva and Arthur Weasley tripped the ward on the revolving stair case that led to his office. He set his tea aside and composed himself behind his desk.

"Come in, Minerva, Arthur," he said as they reached the top steps. He did have an image to preserve.

Minerva opened the door and walked in, and he could tell by the compression of her lips that she was very displeased. He didn't doubt that this was to do with Harry, as he had already received three visits from the Weasley family owl concerning him. He only wondered why it was Arthur and not Molly who came, concerning the man's current workload.

Minerva scowled fiercely at him. "Potter's in Saint Mungo's," she said, her scottish accent stronger than normal. "It seems his relatives put him in a coma and left him to die in a cupboard."

Albus blanched. "What is his prognosis," he asked.

"We don't know yet," said Arthur, "but it took me a while to get here, there may be news by now."

Albus turned in his chair to one of his portraits. "Dilys," he said urgently.

"I'm on it," the former headmistress said, and disappeared out the side of her portrait.

"What do we know?" asked Albus.

"Not much," said Arthur. "The twins and Ron flew out go get him while Molly was asleep. They found him under the stairs on top of his trunk with nothing but a towel on and a head wound. They got him to Saint Mungo's as quickly as they could."

Albus nodded, thinking quickly. "Arthur, thank you for coming so quickly. I need you to return to the ministry. Don't let anyone know that you've been here, but please tell Madam Crosswit that I will be there to see her shortly."

Arthur nodded and left. Minerva stepped forward so that she was less than an inch away from his desk.

"Potter will not be returning there," she said, and though there was a hint of a question, it was a statement. It hurt that she had so little faith in him on the matter, though he knew why she wouldn't.

"No," said Albus, "he will not." The blood protection was more important than ever though, and Albus would need to find a solution to that. The Horcrux could not be allowed to regain its hold on him. "I must go to the Ministry soon to make the proper arrangements. Harry is of course at an age where-"

He was interrupted by the return of Dilys Derwent. "The boy's going to be alright!" the witch exclaimed.

"What is his condition?" asked Albus.

"They had a hard time waking him," explained the former headmistress. "They're not sure why, seemed he was in some kind of stasis. I've seen the like before in one young wizard, his magic slowed things down when help was not forthcoming. Once Harry was revived though, they checked his mental faculties and put him into an enchanted sleep to heal. He was able to confirm that it was his Uncle who hurt him in the first place."

Albus nodded. "I must go to the ministry now," he said. "Minerva, please go to Saint Mungo's and stay with Harry. Let me know of any developments."

She nodded and stalked out of the room. Albus called out to Fawkes, and in a moment, the two of them disappeared in a flash of flames.

!

When Harry awoke from his enchanted sleep, he found that he couldn't open his eyelids.

"Oh, sorry about that," a vaguely familiar voice said. There was a gentle tap on the bridge of his nose and his eyes sprung open. "That can happen sometimes." Harry remembered the man's face from his brief stint of consciousness the night before.

Harry sat up, feeling much more capable now, as his head was no longer pounding, and he could focus his eyes. He looked around. He could tell that he was in a hospital, though there were no machines like in muggle hospitals. He had a room to himself, with a couple of potted plants and a large window in the across from him. Looking down at himself, he found that he was wearing a pair of white cotton pajamas.

"Where am I, again?" he asked.

"Saint Mungo's," said the wizard. "It's in London. I'm Healer Stiles. And I'm sure you still know that your name is…"

"Harry Potter," Harry answered.

"And the year is?"

"Nineteen ninety-two," said Harry.

"And the Minister for Magic is?"

"Darned if I know," said Harry.

A small laugh came from across the room, and there was a witch there filling out a chart. "Never mind him, dear, just tell us who's the headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Professor Dumbledore," said Harry.

"That's a dear," she said.

"What's the last thing you remember?" asked Healer Stiles.

Harry flushed. "I was having a fight with my Uncle."

The man nodded. After the questions, he made a check of Harry's reflexes and motor control, but he didn't seem to expect to find anything the matter with him, and indeed Harry checked out fine.

"Well, Harry," Healer Stiles said when he was finished, "we'll send in some breakfast for you, and you focus on getting better."

Harry nodded and the healers left the room. When his breakfast arrived, he ate it, not letting himself think about his situation, nor how he had arrived in it. Even less willing to think on his future, Harry focused only on eating the food in front of him. Half way through his meal, he heard a voice raised slightly outside his door.

"And what do you mean, that I am not allowed in. I believe that visiting hours started over a half an hour ago."

Was that Professor McGonagall? He didn't hear whoever answered her but he did hear her response.

"Of course I'm authorized, I'm his head of house. With his muggle relatives neither available nor welcome, I am responsible for him in the short term."

Harry hadn't known that. Again, Harry didn't hear the response, but the door opened only a moment later. Professor McGonagall was speaking again. "I'll let you know in a minute if the boy will be wanting the Weasley's to visit. Yes," she said sternly, "they'll be allowed in." She turned to face him.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," she said. Harry greeted her in kind. "How are you," she enquired as she crossed the hospital room to his bed.

"Alright," he said, managing to shrink down into his bed a little.

"None of that now," said his professor, "do sit up." She reached over and plumped his pillows as Harry sat up a little straighter. "Don't let me keep you from your breakfast," she said as she took a seat. "You'll want to build up your strength."

Harry nodded and started eating again. "How'd you know I was here?" he asked between bites.

"You'll find that news about you travels fast, Mr. Potter," she answered. "Now, for the moment, I am responsible for you, but no permanent plans have been put into place. No one knows the full story of what has happened, but do rest assured that you will not be returning to your relatives."

"I won't?" asked Harry, somehow managing to be surprised. He should have expected it, he supposed, but the news still seemed somehow surreal.

"Certainly not. An Auror will be by later to take a statement from you, most likely. They will want to have a full investigation on this matter."

Harry wanted to sink into his mattress again, but he didn't think Professor McGonagall would let him get away with it.

"Couldn't they just leave it alone?" asked Harry, looking down at the tray in front of him.

"No, they couldn't," answered his Professor. "There can be no question in anyone's mind that they can get away with such things. From what little I do know of the situation, your relatives have quite a bit to answer for."

Harry made a noncommittal noise in response. "You'll see, Mr. Potter. This will work out for the best in the end."

Harry doubted her, but he nodded anyway.

"Now, as I said, I am responsible for you for the moment. Is there anything you'll be needing?"

"Hedwig," said Harry immediately.

"She's currently in the owlery here," said Professor McGonagall, "though she won't be allowed in the hospital proper."

"Oh," said Harry, "good. I, um, never got to do any of my homework," he said.

"I will see to it that your belongings are brought to you, though the healers tell me that you shouldn't be here long enough to make much of a dent in your assignments."

Harry nodded. "Did… did you say that the Weasley's are here?" he hardly dared believe it.

"I did," she said. "Ronald, Fred, George, and their Mother are in the waiting room, waiting to see you. Would you like to see them?"

Harry nodded. "Please," he said, though not without a little trepidation. He wasn't sure how he felt about visitors.

His professor walked out of the room, and a few moments later, the door cracked open and Ron stuck his head in. Harry managed a smile and Ron and his brothers tumbled into the room, followed by Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall.

"Harry, mate, it's good to see you up," said Ron.

"Yeah," said one of the twins, "we were worried that you'd sleep through the rest of holiday."

"How'd you know I was here?" asked Harry, for however fast Hogwarts had heard about it, he would have doubted that the news had reached them in one night.

"How'd we know?" asked the other twin, "Fred, Ron, and I were the ones that brought you here."

"You did?" asked Harry.

"Yeah," said Ron, "we snuck out when you wouldn't respond to our letters."

"You finally write, and I'm unconscious?" asked Harry in disbelief.

"What do you mean, finally?" asked Ron. "I've been writing to you all summer, so's Hermione. Don't tell me you were locked in that cupboard all this time."

"No," said Harry uncomfortably. "I have my own room now. But I never got any letters."

"Strange," said Ron, "your relatives weren't intercepting the post, were they? We know they had Hedwig locked up."

"Well, they couldn't, could they," said Harry. "An owl could just bring the letter right to my room." He paused. "So you found me first, then?"

"Yeah," said Fred, "well Ron first, then the two of us."

"Er," said Harry quietly, "I'd just come out of the shower, I wasn't…"

"Um," Ron started.

"You had some pants and a shirt on," said George.

"Yeah," said Fred, "the muggles must have jammed them on you before they locked you away."

"Right," said Ron.

"Oh, good," said Harry, though he had a sinking suspicion that they were lying. Fred and George would have normally delighted to let him think otherwise.

"So what happened?" asked Ron. George elbowed him, but both he and Fred looked like they wanted to know the answer.

"Um," said Harry, more uncomfortably, "my Uncle was being a jerk, and I went a little crazy, and then he went a lot crazy."

"Wow," said Ron. "That sucks."

"Yeah," said Harry in complete agreement, "it does."

"That sort of thing doesn't happen a lot, does it?" asked George.

"Nah," said Harry, "except once he grabbed my arm wrong, is all."

"Just say the word," said Fred conspiratorially, "and we'll have a package in the post that'll really make them sorry."

"Don't think I don't hear you over there, Fred Weasley," Mrs. Weasley said from across the room.

The three Weasley boys busied themselves with looking innocent.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry.

"Hello, Harry dear," she said, coming forward. "It's very good to see you up and feeling better." She had started trying to sort out some of his bed head, not that it was much worse off than how his hair normally was.

"Will Harry be able to come and visit?" asked Ron.

"Harry's welcome to visit the Burrow for the rest of the summer if he likes," said Mrs. Weasley, and Harry flushed. "We don't know yet what he'll be doing for the rest of the summer though, so we'll just have to wait and see."

Harry thanked Mrs. Weasley for the invitation and excused himself to the bathroom. Harry stood in front of the sink, starring at his haggard reflection. He bent over to splash some water on his face. He was very glad to be away from the Dursley's; very glad to not have been abandoned by his friends. But he couldn't help but wonder if everyone would have been better off if no one had rescued him from the cupboard under the stairs.

!

Albus left the Department of Wizarding Family Services at a brisk walk with two very important documents in hand. He needed to get them to Minerva as soon as he could, lest someone take the opportunity away. Not that they should be able to, but with the Boy-Who-Lived in the mix, Albus wouldn't be very surprised if exceptions would be made. With any luck, Lucius Malfoy had not yet heard the news, as he was a man influential enough to get those exceptions.

He had to hurry, there was still so much to do, though he didn't doubt what Harry's decision would be, after Minerva laid the facts out for him. Albus still had to make other arrangements. He had cultivated some assets within the Surrey legal system that would be essential if Albus was to secure protection for Harry. With any luck he would have an appointment to keep on Privet Drive in as little as a week's time.

!

There was a nock on Harry's door, and Harry set aside his text on Transfiguration eagerly as he called out that whoever was outside could come in. The hospital staff never nocked, so that meant that this was a visitor. Mrs. Weasley walked into the room.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. It had only been a few hours since everyone but Professor McGonagall had all had to go home, but the afternoon visiting hours had arrived. Professor McGonagall had had to step out for some business, so Harry was glad to have some more company.

"Hello Harry," she said. "It's just me this time, the boys have some chores to mind. But Ron at least will be here tomorrow."

"That's good," said Harry.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Don't tell me you've been doing homework since we left," she said.

"Er, no," said Harry, "there was an Auror by, and then I had lunch." The Auror had asked a lot of embarrassing questions, but Harry had answered as well as he could. He hadn't wanted to mess things up and get sent back. He didn't think he could look any of his relatives in the eye again, knowing that they'd left him to die like that.

"Well," said Mrs. Weasley, "I thought you might like some help with your homework dear. Seeing as you don't have so long to catch up."

"Oh, sure," said Harry. "Um, Professor McGonagall might think you're poaching on her territory though," he said, holding up his Transfiguration text.

"That's all right," said Mrs. Weasley, who shuffled through Harry's texts. "Here we go, History of Magic. I remember Ronald was working on an Essay about the fall of Grindelwald."

"That's right," said Harry, remembering the assignment.

"It always seems silly to me, calling it history when I can still remember living through it. I was just a girl at the time of course, but you couldn't turn the wireless on at the time without hearing more about it."

"You've been through two wars then," said Harry.

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Weasley, "not that I did much during either."

"Ron told me your brothers fought Voldemort," said Harry.

Mrs. Weasley winced, and her smile became a little forced. "That's right," she said. "They were very brave."

"Um, he said that you lost them, before it was over," said Harry nervously.

"They were taken away," said Mrs. Weasley quickly and with a little heat in her voice. She looked as though she regretted the remark after though. "I don't think there was anyone who didn't at least know someone who died. But that's not the war you need to write about."

Harry knew that he wasn't supposed to ask further on the subject, so he let Mrs. Weasley go over Grindelwald's final days in power with him, and by the time Professor McGonagall returned to the room, he thought he had a good idea of what he would be writing.

"Hello, Molly," Professor McGonagall, and they exchanged pleasantries. After a minute, Professor McGonagall asked for a minute alone with Harry. Mrs. Weasley left with a promise to bring back some tea.

"Now, Mr. Potter," as she took a seat next to him. "Professor Dumbledore has seen to the issues regarding your guardianship, and you now have a choice to make."

"I do?" asked Harry, who hadn't expected to have one.

"Yes. There are two options: you can be a Ward of the Ministry, or you can be a Ward of the Castle. As a Ward of the Ministry, the ministry would be responsible for your well being, but they would find a family to look after you in the long term. As a Ward of the Castle, I would continue being your de facto guardian, as your head of house. Your place of residence would officially be the castle, though we would make sure that you have places to go, and things to do during holidays."

"Er, right," said Harry, who's thoughts immediately went to the scar on his forehead. Could he let himself be taken in permanently by a family if he was living on borrowed time?

"You are of an age when the choice is almost entirely up to you, but I should point out, and I wish that it were not necessary, that it may not be wise in the present political climate to become a Ward of the Ministry."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"There were many followers of You-Know-Who who managed to escape justice after his fall, and many of them are quite influential today. Any one of them could petition to gain custody of you."

"You mean I could be sent to live with the Malfoys?" asked Harry, aghast.

"Of course, I couldn't say with any authority who was and was not a Death Eater."

"That's what his followers called themselves?" asked Harry, easily reading between the lines of what Professor McGonagall had said.

"That's right," she said.

"What did you mean, that you would be my 'defacto' guardian?"

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned in annoyance, though Harry could tell that it was not necessarily directed at him. "Legally speaking, going by the letter of the law, the institution of Hogwarts would be your guardian. How that is supposed to work out has never been spelled out. In practice though, the job has traditionally fallen to the Head of House.

"How do I become a Ward of the Castle?" asked Harry.

"Simply sign here," said Professor McGonagall, and she pulled a fancy looking paper from a pocket that was surely too small for it. She pulled out another packet of papers and placed them on Harry's night stand. "Basically, this says that you have been advised of the contents of these papers, which I will leave with you and explain if necessary, and freely choose to become a ward of Hogwarts. It would be best if you sign this now though, so as to prevent any outside interference."

Harry didn't need to be told twice, and used the quill he had been using to take notes to sign the paper.

"Very good, Mr. Potter," said his professor, and she tapped the paper with her wand, causing it to disappear. "You said you wanted to visit the Weasleys, I believe. That shouldn't be at all difficult to arrange.

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry.

"Not at all, Mr. Potter."

"Er, Professor," said Harry, "before Mrs. Weasley gets back, I was wondering if you could tell me about the war."

"The war with Grindelwald?" asked Professor McGonagall, who had noticed Harry's work.

"No," said Harry, "with Voldemort."

"Does it tie in with the assignment?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"No," said Harry, "I wanted to know for myself, since he wants to do me in, and all."

"I suppose that that is reasonable enough," said the aged instructor. "What was it that you wanted to know?"

"Did you fight Voldemort with Professor Dumbledore?"

"I fought when necessary," said Professor McGonagall cautiously, "but I was not active in Professor Dumbledore's efforts. Especially with the heads of house, he wanted our focus to be on our charges."

"What was it like?" asked Harry, "Mrs. Weasley said that everyone knew someone who died."

"I dare say that that's an accurate assessment," said Professor McGonagall. "Having been a teacher for so long, I knew quite a few of them, as they, like your parents, were students of mine. Voldemort's reign was an abomination. There is no other word for having so many good young lives extinguished. You know from experience that war is loss. Far too many families were broken; and that is a wound that can never quite be healed."

"What would you do to make sure he never came back?" asked Harry.

"What would I do?" asked Professor McGonagall with a humorless laugh, and Harry supposed that it was an odd question to ask his Transfiguration instructor, and not very specific at that. However, it would be hard to come out and say what was really on his mind. "I would sacrifice everything up to and including my life to ensure that another generation of young witches and wizards is not destroyed." His Gryffindor Transfiguration instructor.

Somehow, she had raised the point that Harry had most wanted to discuss. "You think a life would be a fair price?" asked Harry, trying to ask the question casually.

Professor looked at him, and he could tell that she thought his questions odd.

"The price has already been paid," said Professor McGonagall after a moment, "many times over. We were over charged, if you wish to continue the analogy. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if we'll have to pay it again before we're rid of him for good, though. But yes, one life would be worth it, because if he comes back, he would not be satisfied with just one. You-Know-Who relished in the power that murder brought him. However, I think it's safe to say that such a scenario, a life for a life, is not likely to come up."

Harry, who did not think it was safe to say, still nodded. He couldn't keep the troubled look off his face.

"Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, perhaps seeing that he wasn't convinced.

"Yes?" said Harry.

"You do know that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not your responsibility. Regardless of your history, and his repeated attempts on your life, you have no special call to face him on your own. Were he to show up tomorrow, you are expected to do as other twelve-year-olds and allow competent adults to handle the situation."

"Yes, professor," said Harry, though again, he did not believe it. Then he realized, "I am twelve, aren't I?"

"Yes," Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, you turned twelve four days ago. Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," said Harry in a kind of daze.

"Mrs. Weasley chose that moment to bustle into the room with tea and biscuits, and as Harry nibbled on his snack, he couldn't help but wonder if he would reach his thirteenth.

!

"It's pathetic, Dursley," said Inspector Pritchard. "But then, that's what we've come to expect from you, isn't it?" The man in front of him said nothing, neither did his solicitor. "You had a chance to work with us, but it looks like you'll be going down for attempted murder. Your fancy lawyer won't be able to help you out of that.

Pritchard got up from his seat, ready to walk out of the room. And good riddance, it didn't look like they needed the man's confession to make the case. Behind him, the solicitor was whispering in his client's ear to no avail. He had just stepped into the hall when he was approached by Crown Prosecutor Scanland.

"Terri," he greeted the woman, "what brings you here?" he asked.

"The old man wants me to deal with Dursley," she answered with a put upon look.

"Deal?" asked Pritchard. "I know it's not open and shut yet, but we just need a little time to get there. London CID gave us a lot to go on already."

"I know," she said, "whatever the reason is, it's politics, though damned if I know the specifics. Anyway, if Dursley confesses, I'll be able to drop the charge on the wife to negligence, and then she'll be able to go home to look after their son, who's probably better off without, but there you go."

Pritchard scowled. "That woman's as guilty as sin in all of this. I don't believe for a second that she needed any coercion to keep quiet."

"I'll trust your gut, on that," said Terri, "but I've got my marching orders."

"Yeah, well, he's all yours," said Pritchard, gesturing to the room. "You are going for the full sentence for him, right?" he asked.

"Oh yes," said Terri, "one way or another, he'll be doing his time."

!

During his stay at Saint Mungo's, Harry was noted as being an excellent patient. And it was not just his fame coloring people's perceptions, Harry made a concerted effort to be perfectly behaved. And it was an effort, he was dreadfully bored, frustrated, and embarrassed, and wanted to be up and about when they wanted him to rest, his previous lethargy gone. He wanted to snap at the nurse that treated him like a little kid, but he was polite, and stayed still. He told himself that he was being nice to the people who were taking care of him, and he was. Except there was another reason that he didn't quite admit to himself. The quiet hope that if he was cooperative enough, and good enough, one of the healers would notice that something was wrong with his scar, and find a way to fix it.

On the third day of his stay at Saint Mungo's he was discharged with a clean bill of health after dinner. Mrs. Weasley and Ron were there to escort him to the Burrow.

Harry and Ron sat in the bustling lobby of St. Mungo's while Professor McGonagall and Mrs. Weasley were finishing checking him out. Harry, who had mixed feelings about leaving the hospital, was mostly listening to Ron talk about his home, the Burrow.

"…and we can go flying every day if we want, or swimming."

"I don't know how to swim," Harry said suddenly. Indeed, he had never been in a pool at all. The Dursleys had taken him along to neither pool parties nor the local recreational center. He was quite certain that they would delight in the possibility of him drowning. He knew now that they would expend no effort to save him.

"That's okay," said Ron, who had lost none of his enthusiasm, "you only need to worry about the frogs getting into your suit, they kick like crazy. See, there's an anti-drowning charm on the pond, and I can-"

Whatever Ron could do, Harry didn't find out, as they were interrupted by a stranger's voice.

"Why, aren't you Harry Potter?" The voice belonged to a tall and skinny witch with blond hair, wearing a frilly purple robe and an unseasonable fur hat.

"Er, yeah," said Harry.

"I am Francine Frobisher," the witch said very importantly. "I'm a writer for the Daily Prophet."

"Um, that's nice," said Harry, who was dreading the possibility of having to shake hands with everyone in the lobby, but fortunately no one seemed to have noticed her first exclamation.

"Oh, don't worry," said Francine. "I cast a notice-me-not charm before I came over. We wouldn't want a stampede of your adoring public."

"Right," said Harry, who was wondering why this woman was still talking to him.

"I thought I might see you here," the witch went on, "there have been rumors that you were staying here, and an even more exciting rumor that you have been made a Ward of the Castle."

"Er," said Harry.

"So of course your adoring public wants to know what's happened. Tell me, Mr. Potter, what's caused this change in guardianship?"

Harry felt his cheeks flush, that really wasn't a story he wanted made public. "It's none of your business," he said shortly.

"Of course it is, my dear. Now don't be cross, I know you were taught better manners than that."

Before Harry could get terribly indignant about this witch trying to shame him into sharing his secrets, a voice rang out over the lobby.

"Ronald Weasley, you put that wand away this instant!"

Surprised, Harry turned to see a mutinous Ron stuffing his wand back into his robe. The witch ignored Ron entirely, turning instead to smile at Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall who were making their way over.

"Professor McGonagall," said Francine brightly, "how lovely to see you again. Are you Harry's guardian now as a head of house?"

"It is nice to see you as well, Miss Frobisher. Yes, I am Harry's primary guardian now. But that's all you'll be getting from me. It is not the policy of Hogwarts to divulge private information about our students."

"Surely we could have one little interview with the boy, if you gave your permission."

"But I will not be giving my permission," said Professor McGonagall. "The matter is closed, Mr. Potter will be going now."

Mrs. Weasley moved forward and started herding Harry and Ron towards the fire place.

"Good bye, Professor McGonagall," said Harry as he went by her. "Thanks for everything."

"Good bye, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, "I will be writing to you shortly."

When they reached the fireplace and stopped, Harry turned to Ron. "What are we doing."

"Oh, right," said Ron. "He's never flooed," he said to his mother.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"It's a way of traveling long distances quickly," said Mrs. Weasley. "There's a network of fireplaces through the Kingdom. You throw in some floo powder, say your destination, and step in. Why don't you show him?" she asked Ron.

"Alight," said Ron, who took a large pinch of powder from a pot on the mantle and tossed it into the fire place. "The Burrow," he said loudly, as the flames turned green. He stepped in and was whisked away. Harry stared wide eyed. The wizarding world still managed to surprise him sometimes, even when he had warning.

"Now," said Mrs. Weasley, "make sure you speak clearly, keep your elbows tucked in, try not to overshoot the right gate.

"Er," said Harry.

"Now get yourself a good helping of floo powder," said Mrs. Weasley.

Harry stepped forward and reached into the pot. The substance was not well named, as it was more of a sand than a powder. Harry tossed the shiny black substance into the fire place, took a small step back when green flames shot up, and-

"Be sure to speak clearly, dear."

"The Burrow," Harry nearly shouted. Scrunching his eyes closed, he stepped into the flames and then he was spinning like a top.

Aside from feeling faintly queasy, it was almost a nice feeling, like what he imagined a carnival ride to be like, with a warm breeze on his face. Something bumped sharply into his elbow and he tucked them in tightly. He opened his eyes, and amidst a green swirl he saw what he realized to be flashes of other people's living rooms. The spinning started to slow down, and Harry could just make out Ron's face in an upcoming portal. Remembering the advice about not over shooting, Harry stuck out a foot as soon as it was in front of him. No longer spinning, Harry went head over heels and collided with a scarlet knit rug.

"Bravo, Bravo," cried a voice, Harry identified it as one of the twins.

"I say, nine points, and what an effort!"

"I second that, nine points, a surprising feat from this athlete from Surrey."

"Shut it, you two," said Ron as he helped Harry up.

"Or what?" asked one of the twins. "You'll get Harry to fall on us?"

"I'll fall on you without any mercy if you keep it up," said Harry.

"In that case, why not make things interesting and get our brooms? See who falls the best."

"No flying right now," said Mrs. Weasley as she stepped lightly out of the fire place. "It's time Harry had something home made. I'll have that apple and blackberry cobbler heated up in a jiffy. You boys go wash up, and let Percy and Ginny know there's cobler"

Harry, who had grown tired of hospital food, was quick to follow the brothers to the nearest sink. On their way to the small restroom by the stairs, one of the twins hollered, "OY, MUMS PUTTING OUT COBBLER!"

"Fred Weasley, if I had wanted it shouted across the house, I would have done it myself!" Mrs. Weasley cried out from the kitchen.

"Sorry Mum," replied Fred, "thought you were conserving your voice."

Harry heard the report of small footsteps hurrying down the steps as he waited outside the restroom, and then found himself face to face with the only other female Weasley. The girl's eyes widened to what Harry thought to be an impossible degree, and then, he was quite sure, she squeaked.

"Glad your feeling better," she said very faintly, and then she rushed off towards the kitchen.

"That's odd," said Ron beside him, he had just stepped forward to wash his own hands.

"What?" asked Harry.

"She's not usually shy," said Ron. "Pretty annoying sometimes, actually. She doesn't stop talking. Pestered me non-stop about you when you were in St. Mungo's?"

"Really?" asked Harry.

"Yeah," said Ron, "it's really weird. Girls, huh?"

"Yeah," said Harry. Of course, he was used to being a point of interest, but a girl had never gone up to him before, stammered out something nice, and then run away before. What had that been about?

The cobbler was delicious, as was the home made ice cream that was served with it. Mrs. Weasley insisted that Harry eat a third serving (Ron had needed no such cajoling), and Harry did not complain, though his stomach had felt close to bursting by the end. Through the desert, Harry kept on catching Ginny casting glances at him. She would always look away quickly when he saw her though, and pretend that she had been very interested in some knickknack or another placed around the room. Harry had a sinking suspicion that he knew what was going on; did Ginny have a crush on him? He found himself going very red in the face.

Surely she knew what had happened to him. Wouldn't something like that make him less appealing to a girl. It wasn't like he had been injured bravely slaying a dragon, his Uncle had cracked his head open and stuffed him in a closet. Ron was right, there was just something odd about girls.

After the desert, Ron took Harry upstairs to his room, which they would be sharing. Had Harry ever had trouble remembering the name and colors of Ron's favorite Quidditch team, he would never have such a difficulty again. The entire room was plastered with bright orange posters for the Chudley Cannons. It nearly gave Harry a headache. After showing him around his room, Ron took Harry around the rest of the Burrow, which was brilliant in Harry's opinion. It was as un-Dursleyish as it was possible to be, and that gave it a lot of points in Harry's mind. There were moving pictures everywhere, though almost no portraits. Harry stopped and smiled at a picture of a much younger Ron who was chasing some manner of creature around the garden while waving his shirt over his head. Ginny was laughing in the background.

"Oh, that's a gnome," said Ron, when Harry asked. "They're everywhere in Mum's garden. We were getting rid of them just a couple of days ago."

Ron didn't live in the suburbs, as Harry had for as long as he could remember. The property was surrounded by nature, both tamed and cultivated. There was the garden around the back, outside the kitchen, where the gnomes were. Further out, there was tall orchard enclosed by a paddock, which Ron informed Harry was where they played quidditch. To the side of the house was a rather disorganized corn field, which had a number of small ponds in it, including the frog infested one that the Weasley's regularly swam in. Other than that, it was all countryside as far as the eye could see, aside from the small village that lay in the distance.

"And I think the Lovegoods live somewhere over that hill," Ron was saying, "and the Diggories somewhere that way. They've got Cedric at Hogwarts, I think he's a puff a few years above us."

"You ever go to the village?" asked Harry.

"Sometimes," said Ron, "mostly just for shopping though. There's not much to do there, except dad took us to a fair there once when we were kids.

"So, want to go flying?"

Harry smiled.

!

While Harry was reacquainting himself with the concept of fun, Albus Dumbledore was strolling down Privet Drive wearing a purple business suit and a white top hat. He left a path of astonished housewives in his wake. Reaching number 4, Albus approached the front door and nocked.

The door opened moments later to reveal a haggard looking Petunia Dursley, who's tired expression changed to one of loathing the moment she laid eyes on him.

"Good evening, Petunia," said Albus a little more loudly than was necessary. "How good to see you again."

"You!" she hissed.

"Yes, me," said Albus as he walked into her home. Even through her apoplexy, she could discern the steel in his voice and smile, and she backed away from him. "It's time that we became better acquainted, Petunia."

A/N: Well, I hope you all like what I've given you so far. You're bound to anyway, otherwise why are you still reading? Anyhow this is the last of what I've already written, so updates will be a little slower from here on out.

As always, please review. Tell me what you liked, what you didn't. I read them all. Reviews are crack, and I am an addict. Don't feel bad about enabling me though, I make it work.


	5. 04 Fate

Disclaimer: If you think Harry Potter belongs to me, then your grasp on reality is even more tenuous than my own. For the record, it's JK Rowling you should be sending creepy fan mail to.

04 Fate

Flying angry was kind of fun, actually. Up in the air, flying seemed to be the only time Harry felt like he could let it all out. The Weasleys were certainly impressed.

"Now that's flying, Harry!" shouted one of the twins from above him, Harry could never tell which, as Harry's shoulder skimmed the high cut grass. Harry let himself roll the rest of the way over and now it was the top of his head that felt the quick rustle of a thousand different blades of grass. He angled up and shot into the sky.

He was volatile, he knew that, and he didn't want to take it out on the Weasleys, who had been so great to him. He wasn't sure what his future was supposed to hold, but he was glad that he hadn't died alone in the cupboard under the stairs. He was glad that he had a place where he was welcome. But not snapping at the Weasleys meant not doing much with them in the first place. He had become something of a recluse. Except for when he was flying, he could let it all out then, and the Weasleys thought it grand to see him fly with such passion.

It had been two weeks since Harry had arrived at the Burrow, and in spite of his moods, Harry was actually a lot more content than he had ever been at Privet Drive. Everyone at the Burrow was a friend to Harry, and whatever gloom clouded him, Harry could still appreciate the support that came from being surrounded by people who liked him.

"Harry," said one of the twins as Harry got nearer to them. "I saw a move once, you should try it."

"What is it?" asked Harry, ready for another rush.

"It was Johanah from the Wasps, she caught a snitch that was an inch off the ground, upside down, with just her legs on the broom."

"Don't be a prat," Ron started, but Harry spoke up.

"I'm game. I'll try for that apple down there," he said, pointing.

Harry dove down, facing away from his target as he did, so that when he continued his ark and was upside down, it was now facing him. Harry let go of the broom with his hands and his body slammed backwards, Harry's arms colliding with the Earth as he sped along. Harry used his knees to adjust himself a little higher. The apple was just ahead of him, and he reached out his right hand to grab it. With the apple firmly in his grasp, Harry's hand collided with a hump in the Earth, sending a sharp pain up his arm.

Harry brought his good hand back up to the broom, and then braked and righted himself in one ungainly move. His wrist hammering with pain, Harry transferred the apple into his good hand and held it up.

"Got it," he shouted.

Of course, Mrs. Weasley made quite a fuss over Harry's wrist.

"You really must be more careful dear, you'll wind up in Saint Mungo's again if you keep this up." She finished wrapping a bandage around his poulticed arm.

"Now don't take this off for at least an hour. You'll want to give that some time to heal properly.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry, wishing he were still flying, but knowing that Ron's mother would have none of it.

Harry joined the other's in the living room, where Ron and the twins grinned up at him.

"Nice one," said a twin. Harry thought it might have been Fred.

"Yeah," said Ron, "just try not to break your neck next time."

"Right," said Harry with an answering smile that he didn't quite feel. "I'll be good to go in an hour if you guy's still want to fly."

"You bet," said the twin that might have been George.

"My hand's no good for right now, but I can still revise for Professor Flitwick's assignment. I think I'll do that until I'm ready to go."

"Bring it down here," said Ron.

"Nah, I need the quiet, or I won't get anything done."

"Killjoy," one of the twins called after him as he headed upstairs, though there was no heat in his voice.

Ginny was coming out of her room as he passed her landing.

"Hi, Harry," she nearly whispered.

"Hi Ginny," Harry replied, a little uncomfortable around the besotted girl.

Harry reached Ron's room and toed open his trunk to pull out his first year Charms book. Book in hand, Harry flopped down onto his bed. He had actually intended to revise a chapter, but after ten minutes, Harry realized that he hadn't read past the first sentence. Giving up revising as a bad job, Harry set the book on the floor beside him and stared at the ceiling. Not having anything better to do, he fell into a discontented sleep.

!

Harry was shouting, though he didn't know why. Anger and dread washed over him. Large hands grabbed him and Harry swung through the air. He expected a crunch and darkness, but instead of a door frame, Harry was flying into his cupboard.

His face hit the bars of a cage, and he reached out to steady himself. The torches and candles floating around him did a poor job of lighting the area. Everyone was around him but, helpless in his cage, Harry was not the center of attention. Voldemort stood, impossibly tall, near Harry's cage, an expression of sadistic glee on his face. Everyone but Harry and Voldemort stood still, unable to move.

"You had better tell me where the stone is, Harry," said Voldemort. "If I don't get what I want, I'm going to start killing everyone."

"No," said Harry, feeling noxious. "If I let you have the stone, you'll destroy the whole world."

"The world is mine to do with as I please," said Voldemort, gloating. "Now tell me where it is."

"No," said Harry, already knowing what would happen next.

A green light took over the whole world, and when it disappeared, students all around the great hall were dead and gone.

There were great cries of anguish from around him. "Harry, just give him what he wants," cried Ron and Hermione.

"I can't," shouted Harry, "I'm scared."

More green light, and this time Ron and Hermione were gone. Again, and the twins were among the dead. Again, and Ginny's tiny form was sprawled at Harry's feet. Harry backed away from her, trying to deny what was happening.

"No. No. No," he said weakly. His back hit the far end of the cage, and Harry started hitting his head against the bars with every 'no'. The green light kept time.

Harry woke with a start. He shivered, though it was the middle of a summer day. He searched around himself for something to focus his attention on, other than the nightmare, but there was nothing in the room.

Harry went down stairs to go flying.

!

Hermione sat anxiously at a table, nursing the pumpkin juice her father had bought for her. Her parents were at Gringotts changing some money. The Leaky Cauldron was busy, as was the Alley behind it; Hogwarts letters had gone out, and school supplies were being bought. Her parents had thought that they should wait on the trip, remembering how busy the alley had been last year, but Hermione had pointed out that not only did she want to stay ahead on her subjects, this was the day that Harry and Ron were going to be shopping.

The fire place lit up green, and out sprung Percy. Hermione got up to go greet him.

"Hello, Percy," she said while he dusted ash off of his robes.

He looked up from his robes. "Ah, hello Hermione. I see that you were more punctual than we managed to be."

Hermione nodded. "We got here early to avoid traffic."

"Harry and Ron will be here soon," said Percy. "I hope you don't mind, I have an appointment of my own to keep."

"Oh, don't mind me," said Hermione, and she stepped back as the fireplace lit up once more. One of the twins stepped out.

"Hello Fred," Hermione said.

"Hello to you too," he said. The fire spat out his twin.

"Hello Fred," said Hermione.

"Top of the morning," the twin replied.

"Right," said Hermione. "Fred, George," she said, pointing.

Fred smacked his brother's arm. "You walked right into her trap," he hissed.

Out came Ron, and Hermione's confidence evaporated as she looked at the ground.

"I'm sorry I-" She was interrupted as Harry came shooting out of the fireplace, hacking on a mouthful of ash.

"Harry," she screamed, and nearly tackled him in an embrace.

"Can't breath, Hermione," Harry croaked.

Hermione sprung back. "Oh Harry, I've been feeling so bad," she said, "I told Ron not to do anything rash, and there you were in trouble."

!

Harry had not considered that Hermione would feel bad about telling Ron to be cautious, she was always telling them not to get into trouble.

"Yeah," said Harry, "but Ron did do something rash, so no trouble."

"Yeah," said Ron, "and we only waited so long because we were waiting for the right time to sneak out. I mostly ignored your letter, anyway."

"What do you mean, you mostly ignored my letter?" asked Hermione indignantly.

"Well you know, you're always telling us to be careful, so I'd already expected more of the same."

"I'll have you know Ronald," Hermione started as Harry smiled wryly at his two bickering friends. He found that he'd actually missed their arguments.

"Come on guys, let's go get our things before queues start to form."

The rest of the Weasleys had spun out of the fireplace by now, and they all set off towards the exit of the Leaky Cauldron, which led to the entrance of Diagon Alley. He nocked into someone as he went through the back door though.

"Oh, sorry I-"

"Why don't you watch where you're... oh it's you, Potter." Harry had bumped into his Hogwarts nemesis, Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy," said Harry, brushing past the boy. He had no interest in a conflict today. Malfoy too seemed to be of the same mind, because he made his way into the Leaky Cauldron without any other comment to Harry or the Weasleys.

"That twat," Harry heard Ron say under his breath, so his mother couldn't hear. "I wonder what he's doing here."

Harry could almost _hear _Hermione rolling her eyes. "Honestly Ron, he's probably here for the exact same thing we're here for."

They made their ways through the various shops, and Harry, his thoughts once more turning dour, wondered if he would live long enough to make proper use of what he was buying. Thinking like that, it made him wonder if this all wasn't a big waste of money. The thought brought him up short; should he be making a will? What would happen to his stuff if he died without one? Ron should have his broom of course, his was just awful, and the Weasley's could have his money. Hermione could take care of Hedwig. Was there anything else he had that she'd like? Ron would probably make better use of the invisibility cloak, although the twins could make all sorts of mischief with that too, and they had helped rescue him.

"What are you so lost in thought about?" asked Hermione, startling him out of his reverie as he peered at potions supplies.

"Oh," said Harry, "um, just wondering what I'll need for next year."

"Well," said Hermione, "they have pretty good sets already made for second years, but Mrs. Weasley has a list of things she thinks we should all get to supplement it. Or did you mean aside from potions ingredients?"

"Er, yeah. I meant, stuff that's not on the list, but we'll still need like..." he tried to think of a good example. Underwear, no, don't say underwear. "Underwear." Curses. "And other things. You know, tooth floss and spare toothbrushes and soap." Stop talking about bathroom items! They have that stuff stocked at Hogwarts anyway. "And a picture frame for pictures." Just stop talking.

Hermione looked at him critically. "You weren't _really_ thinking about underwear, were you."

Harry had never been so relieved to be found to be making things up.

"No I wasn't," Harry replied.

"You don't have to make things up if you don't want to tell me what you were thinking about." Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "But that is a good thought. Not the toiletries, of course. They have those already at Hogwarts. But you could use more personal items, Harry, and a better wardrobe. I know you can afford to dress better."

"Er, you're not going to girl out on me, are you?" asked Harry, worried that Hermione would try to take him clothes shopping.

"No, I'm not going to 'girl out on you'," said Hermione indignantly, "though I think I saw Lavender earlier, she might be interested."

"No," said Harry, suppressing a shiver. "I think I can manage on my own."

It turned out he couldn't. He hadn't actually intended to go clothes shopping, except for his school uniforms, but Hermione pushed him into it, and he floundered. True to her word though, she didn't help him out. Harry, though, thought that it would have been much less embarrassing if she had, as his best friend's mother wound up stepping in instead. It wasn't an experience that he wanted to repeat.

Mrs. Weasley kept on asking him what kind of clothes he wanted, what colors, what styles. Harry had never known he was supposed to have an opinion about such things, let alone how he was supposed to go about deciding. He suddenly found himself feeling distinctly inadequate for this lack that he hadn't known existed. Of course, some questions had been more awkward than others.

"Boxers or briefs, Harry? I know I've been washing briefs all Summer, but I don't think that they've been yours by choice." With a red face, Harry decided he was a boxers guy.

Ron and the twins were still snickering about it, even after they had finished buying their books, and were walking back towards the Cauldron. They were all together now, the entire Weasley clan present in England with the addition of Harry and the Grangers.

"Pathetic," said a voice just low enough to not reach the adults. Harry turned his head to see Draco Malfoy only a few feet away from him just outside of a store selling household supplies. "Even when you have an entourage, Potter, you still manage to look so pathetic. Is it the company that you keep: muggles and blood traitors? Or is it that everyone knows that you can't even handle a simple muggle?"

"Don't you talk about them!" said Harry angrily. "And don't talk about things you don't know about."

"Or what?" asked Draco. "You'll get a muggle to put me in the hospital.

A gentle but firm hand came down on Harry's shoulder before he could do anything.

"Now what's going on here?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"I should ask the same thing," said a cold and aristocratic voice. The man standing behind Draco could only be his father, with expensive clothes and long silver blond hair. The look of disdain on his face was a perfect match to his son's.

"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, as though making a concerted effort to be polite. "They just seem to have been trading some words, nothing to worry much over."

"Oh, but you would know all about words, wouldn't you, Arthur?" asked Mr. Malfoy with a false air of pleasantness. "Empty words that you call legislature."

"Yes well, I suppose we'll find out who's words are empty soon enough," said Mr. Wesley.

"My, but how do you expect to change our world when you can't even clothe your own children?" He smirked down at Ginny, who shrunk back; her clothes, though clean and tidy, were also well worn and slightly frayed. "Have you even managed to feed her today, or did you have to sacrifice for her school supplies. At least the poor child will have enough to eat at school, through the charity of others."

The hand on Harry's shoulder disappeared. It had become a fist, which quickly made the journey towards Mr. Malfoy's chin.

"Arthur, no!" cried Mrs. Weasley, but her words fell on deaf ears, as the two men were now brawling in the middle of the street.

The twins and Ron cheered their father on as a crowd gathered to watch. Draco made a move to get at Harry, but the brothers got in his way. Finally, a stream of light impacted the two, forcing them apart. Harry turned and saw Mrs. Weasley with her wand out.

"Of all of the disgraceful things you could do in front of your children," Mrs. Weasley started to shout.

"I'll pass that bill, Malfoy," Mr. Weasley ground out as blood seeped down from a split lip. "And you won't be able to keep yourself from breaking it. And when you do, I'll be at your trial, and you won't worm your way out a second time."

Mr. Malfoy's face hardened, and there was pure loathing in his eyes. He picked up a bag of shopping that Ginny had dropped and thrust it at her. "Take it, your second hand robes and second hand wand are the best that your second rate father can get you."

With that, he stalked off, taking Draco with him.

The journey back to the Cauldron had become much more subdued. Mrs. Weasley alternated between worrying over her husband and berating him. Harry stayed quiet, only speaking up to say goodbye to Hermione. They all flooed back to the Burrow, and Harry stalked up to the room he shared with Ron in a bad temper. Ron followed him up.

"Mate, you okay?" asked Ron.

"How did he know?" asked Harry miserably.

"Know about what?" asked Ron.

"You heard him," said Harry, "how did Malfoy know about my Uncle?"

"Well," said Ron, "he probably doesn't. It's been kept quiet, after all. But everyone knows that you've been made a ward, and they know you were in the hospital, and I heard Dad say that people have been speculating."

"Oh great," said Harry, "so now I've just confirmed it."

"What are you on about?" asked Ron. "You haven't confirmed anything.

"I wouldn't have reacted like that if it weren't true!" shouted Harry. "He knows now."

"Well so what if he does?" asked Ron. "Sure he'll try to make a big deal about it, but you don't have to be so embarrassed about it."

"I don't have to be embarrassed?" cried Harry. "I _was_ pathetic. I let my Uncle crack my head open, and stuff me naked into a cupboard so I could die alone. And I know he never stuffed any clothes on me, so you don't have to pretend he did."

"You didn't let him do anything," said Ron, his voice starting to match Harry's, "that's why you don't have to be embarrassed; it wasn't your fault."

"Of course it was my fault," said Harry, "I'm the one that went crazy on him. Nothing would have happened if I'd have just gone to my room and ignored him. Everything would have been fine if I hadn't been angry about..." Harry stopped short. He had almost blurted out about the piece of Voldemort stuck to him, and what it meant.

"What?"

"Just leave me alone," said Harry. Not wanting to kick Ron out of his own room, Harry stalked out of it, and then out of the house to find some seclusion.

!

Harry had plenty of time on the train ride to Hogwarts to wonder if he should be insulted that Ron's enthusiasm for a trip to Hogwarts by car had suddenly been squashed when Harry had asked if he could drive the car too.

"Maybe we should just wait for my parents," Ron had said, "they'll have to go back for the car eventually, and it's not like we won't be allowed back at Hogwarts if we're late."

Two minutes later, the elder Weasleys had shown up, and a mere ten minutes later, the boys had boarded the train at a stretch of track just outside of London. There had been some staring, and some laughing at the two second years who couldn't get to the train on time. Malfoy had made a comment about not needing a special departure time to get to Hogwarts. Then they had all settled down in their respective compartments. Like the trip back at the end of the last term, Harry, Ron and Hermione took a compartment for themselves.

So what if Harry had hurt himself flying twice more that Summer. It wasn't like he was going to crash them. Ron had no reason to be worried about him. Except for the whole Voldemort thing, but Ron didn't know anything about that.

While riding past a field of wildflowers a ways out of London, Hermione brought up the subject of the upcoming term.

"I do hope we can have a normal year this time."

"That would be nice," said Ron. "Mmm, a normal year, without Snape."

"Or Binns," said Harry.

"Or Filch," Ron added.

"I don't think they're going to replace Professor Snape anytime soon," said Hermione. "He is considered one of the best in his field."

"Doesn't mean he's a good teacher," said Harry.

"You know what, I figure Snape'll be even worse this year," said Ron.

"Since we beat Slytherin last year?" asked Harry.

"That, and now he doesn't have Quirrell and everything else distracting him. It's enough to make you wish You-Know-Who would try something again this year, just to keep Snape distracted."

"Honestly Ron," said Hermione, "be careful what you wish for, or next thing you know he will be back, and cursing Harry and all the muggleborns."

"All the muggleborns?" asked Harry.

"Well that's what he wanted," said Hermione. "Voldemort and his followers wanted to get rid of people with muggle blood, especially muggleborns. 'The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts' says that the muggleborn population in Britain was nearly halved before you stopped him, Harry."

Harry had never stopped to consider Voldemort's motives before. The man had always seemed so surreal somehow, like a comic book villain, for whom all that mattered was power and destruction. He hadn't realized that there were actual goals behind all of the madness.

"I didn't stop him," said Harry.

"What?" asked Hermione, her brow furrowed.

"Voldemort wasn't going to kill my Mum, but she sacrificed herself for me anyway. That's why I'm protected from Voldemort, Dumbledore says."

"I never knew that," said Ron. They were both looking at him, uncertain of just how they were supposed to discuss the death of Harry's mother.

"So, he's like Hitler," said Harry, jumping back to the other topic.

"They are very similar," said Hermione, perhaps more comfortable talking about Voldemort outside of the context of how the man had orphaned Harry.

"What, that muggle bloke that went to war when Grindelwald did?" asked Ron.

'Great', thought Harry, 'I'm keeping magical Hitler alive, and he wants to kill Hermione. This just keeps getting better and better.'

His friends, perhaps realizing that talk of Voldemort had hardly improved their friend's disposition, changed the subject to lighter talk of classes and more rehashing of their respective summers. Harry, though he engaged in conversation when spoken to, remained lost in his thoughts through the ride to Hogwarts.

The year before, Hogwarts had seemed to be so full of hopes and dreams. There were endless possibilities to be had, and Harry had been given an all access pass. But now that wide window of opportunity seemed to be narrowing, getting smaller with every passing kilometer they got closer to Hogwarts. How long would Harry be able to hold on to moments of peace and contentment with his friends before it all came crashing down on him?

The train drew nearer to Hogsmeade station, and Hermione left the compartment so they could change into their school uniforms. At long last, the train came to a gentle halt, and they all disembarked the train, leaving their belongings on the platform to be taken up for them.

Harry saw Hagrid calling for all of the first years further down the platform, and when the gentle giant waved to him, Harry waved back. He knew he could expect an invitation to tea within the next few days. Ron spotted Ginny in the crowd and directed her over to the man.

Instead of the boats that they had taken in first year, the second years and everyone else took horseless carriages up to the castle. They all shuffled into the entrance hall, and then into the Great Hall, with its hundreds of floating candles, enchanted ceiling, and ghosts flying about every which way.

In spite of everything, the sight of it all filled Harry with an energy that he had forgotten he could possess off of a broom, and a large smile bloomed on his face. He looked up to the head table, and there were his professors: strict Professor McGonagall, the bubbly Professor Flitwick, kindly Professor Sprout. Even the ghost of Professor Binns was in attendance, though Harry wasn't particularly sure he knew where he was. In the middle of them all sat Professor Dumbledore, smiling kindly down upon the mass of students that had invaded his school.

"It is good to be back," Harry said to his friends as he took a seat at Gryffindor table. It felt like coming home, and now, as a ward of the Castle, he was.

"I'll say," said Ron. "We've got a real quidditch pitch here, and no more restrictions on whether or not we can have a broom."

"Don't forget that the house teams will be using the pitch for practices," said Hermione.

"Yeah, but not all the time," said Ron. "I've never gotten to play on a real pitch before. Hey Harry, you'll still let me have a go on your Nimbus when you're not using it, right?"

"Course," Harry replied. Ron should definitely get his broom if he died. Harry was still debating about his cloak.

After a short wait the first years shuffled in nervously and the sorting hat was brought out. And while Ron was swearing that they hadn't been nearly so small when they had been first years, Harry couldn't help but notice that Ginny Weasley and a small dirty blond boy were the only ones that were noticeably shorter than himself.

They were mildly surprised when the sorting hat sang a different song that year, and an older student sitting near by assured them that it changed the song every year. After the sorting, in which both short first years were sorted into Gryffindor, Professor Dumbledore gave them a few nonsense words and bade them to tuck in.

As Harry had come to expect, the Hogwarts feast was sumptuous, and he put away more servings than was wise, leaving him with an overly full feeling. Afterward, Professor Dumbledore gave his usual words of welcome, this time introducing Professor Lockheart as their new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. There were no warnings about forbidden parts of the castle this year, no mention of the possibility of death. Harry wondered if this was what a normal year was supposed to feel like. Finally, the Professor bade them all good night, and dismissed them from the hall.

Harry had come to a decision by the time he and his friends had made their way to the entry hall.

"Hey guys, I've got something to do before bed. Don't wait up, okay?"

Hermione turned to him. "What are you talking about? It's time for bed, it's almost curfew."

"Don't worry," said Harry, "I've got my cloak, just in case. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Harry!" Ron called after him, but Harry had already pushed through the crowd of students.

Of course, it didn't take Harry long to realize that he didn't actually know where he was going. Perhaps he should have waited until he knew where he needed to go, but this seemed like the right time to do it. Thinking quickly, Harry turned to the nearest painting in the hallway, which depicted a cook in a very old fashioned looking kitchen. There was a pig turning on a spit over a large fireplace set into the wall.

"Er, excuse me," said Harry.

The cook looked up from the dough he was kneading.

"Yes boy, what is it? Have they decided to finally put my painting in the place it belongs."

"Er," said Harry.

"Of course, I'm not sure why they ever put me in a hallway to begin with. I should be in the castle kitchens teaching those blasted elves how to cook properly."

"Right," said Harry. "Actually I was hoping you could give me directions to the headmaster's office."

"Well of course you are," said the cook. "That's all you students want to ever hear about, directions about the place. No matter that I cooked for the court of King James the First. But does anyone ask me about the history of cooking? No, it's always goblin wars this, and treaty's that. Well did you think those people did all those things on an empty stomach? In fact, I should have another painting in the history classroom."

"Right," said Harry. "You know that would be a lot more interesting than listening to Professor Binns talk about all that stuff. You probably cooked for a bunch of treaties yourself."

"You're darned right I did," said the cook proudly.

"I should mention that when I see Professor Dumbledore."

"Of course, you need directions."

"That's right," said Harry.

"Well, never fear, I know this castle like the back of a slow roasted leg of lamb. You know my food is desired by portraits all over the castle, especially on special occasions."

"So the headmaster's office is..."

"Two floors up, third corridor, on the right. It's guarded by a statue of a gargoyle. You can't get up without a password, I'm afraid though. You'll probably have to wait until someone comes by."

"Alright, thanks," said Harry.

"Don't forget," said the cook.

"I won't," Harry promised.

He followed the cook's directions until he found a stretch of wall guarded by the statue of a gargoyle, just as the painting had said. With no obvious way of communicating past the barrier, Harry sat down against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest, hoping that the Headmaster had not beaten him to his office.

Harry had nearly nodded off when he heard footsteps approaching him. Harry got up quickly, smoothing out his robes as the Headmaster approached.

"Sir," Harry greeted him.

"Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "I had wondered if you would seek me out tonight."

"You might have given me directions then," said Harry.

"Perhaps, Harry, perhaps. Come, we will discuss what's on your mind up in my office." He turned to address the gargoyle. "Pistachio nut ice cream," he said clearly.

The gargoyle leapt aside, and the wall behind him opened to reveal a spiral staircase that started revolving up towards another level.

"Come along then, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore as he mounted the staircase.

Harry stepped on. Except for the slightly dizzying feeling, Harry thought it felt quite a lot like riding an escalator. When they reached the top, Harry nearly forgot everything else as he entered Professor Dumbledore's fantastical office. There were dozens of spinning and whirling silver instruments arrayed around the circular room, and behind the large desk. There was a stand, upon which sat a large magnificent red and gold bird, the likes of which Harry had never seen.

"That, Harry, is Fawkes. He's a phoenix, a rather impressive species of magical bird. He has consented to be my companion through these long years. I don't think, however, that you came here to meet him."

The bird stared intently at him, and Harry had to pull his gaze away. He wasn't there to see Fawkes or anything else that Professor Dumbledore kept in his office. He was there for a very important reason.

"Er, I'm supposed to ask if you could have that cook who cooked for King James the first teach history."

"You came to ask me that?" asked Professor Dumbledore, his eyebrows raised.

"No," said Harry, "but he did give me directions. Er, forget about that." Harry composed himself, and hoped that he struck a mature air. "Why haven't you killed me yet?" Somehow, he managed to say it without stumbling over his words.

Professor Dumbledore looked down at him sternly. "May I ask what I have done to give you the impression that I am in the habit of killing my own students?"

"Well maybe you should be," said Harry defensively, "I heard Voldemort was a student here before. You could have stopped that problem before he killed anyone."

"And I suppose you can tell me who is predestined to kill, and who is just a troubled youth?"

"I guess not, but there isn't really any question about me, is there?"

"No Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "I am quite certain that you are helping to keep Voldemort alive."

"So if I don't die, he'll come back eventually, and keep killing people."

"Not necessarily, Harry, this exact situation has never occurred before. I would like to explain to you Harry, what I have learned about this, and why there is still hope."

"Alright," said Harry guardedly.

Professor Dumbledore guided Harry to a seat across from his desk. When they were seated across from each other, the Professor held out a tin.

"Lemon drop, Harry," offered the Professor.

"No thank you," said Harry.

"Very well," said the Professor, before popping one of the sweets into his own mouth. "Now, on to the subject at hand, I should hope that you have never heard of horcruxes."

Harry shook his head. "Never," he said.

"That's as it should be," said Professor Dumbledore. "They are among the darkest of magics, and were your situation different, you would _never_ need learn of them. However, I believe that a Horcrux is what you have become."

"What exactly is it?" asked Harry, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. Already, the word sounded foul.

"A horcrux is a vessel for a piece of a person's soul. They are used as a way to prevent death; should the physical body be destroyed, the piece of soul kept in the horcrux will tether the rest of the soul to the mortal world. They are created through murder, Harry. You see, the act of willfully murdering another human being causes damage to our souls, and a person who wishes to create a horcrux capitalizes on that damage to split off a piece."

"So, can you get rid of it without killing me?" asked Harry.

"Alas," said Professor Dumbledore, "such a thing has never been attempted. There has only ever been one known instance where a dark wizard had created a living horcrux, in the form of a crocodile. At the time, no effort was expended to preserve the creature's life."

"That doesn't exactly fill me with hope. You're risking an awful lot on the hope that you'll find a way to save me."

"Are you so ready to die, Harry, that you would have me kill you without even trying to find another way?"

"I don't want to die," said Harry heatedly, "but I don't want Voldemort to kill my friends either."

"Except that the chances of you being the only thing keeping Voldemort alive are quite remote."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"Harry, at no point in recorded history has anyone ever created a horcrux on accident. That Voldemort has tells me two things. First, that he likely did intend to create a horcrux on the night he tried to kill you; there are steps that he would have needed to take ahead of time for this to have happened. Second, and more distressing, he would need to have already created multiple horcruxes in order for his soul to have been so damaged that his rebounded killing curse would have had this effect."

It took Harry a moment to piece all of that together. "So you're saying that I don't have to die until we destroy his other horcruxes," said Harry with a feeling of dread. What if Professor Dumbledore couldn't destroy all of the horcruxes, and Voldemort came back. How many more families could Voldemort destroy, how many more muggleborns slaughtered?

"I'm saying that there is hope that you can live a long and happy life, Harry."

"I don't know about you, sir, but my vision of happily ever after doesn't include Voldemort coming back to start all over again."

"Nor does mine, Harry, which is why I will try to find and destroy Voldemort's remaining horcruxes, and try to find a way to free you of yours."

"But what if you can't?" asked Harry. "What if there is no other way."

"I believe that life is a gift Harry, and I want you to understand that. To extinguish that life for your own benefit, Harry, well that is part of the reason why the vile act needed to create a horcrux is murder. If there is no other way to destroy the horcrux within you, then there will still only be one person who has a right to determine the course of your life, Harry, and that is you. I will not decide for you."

"So you're passing the pound on to me, then?" asked Harry.

"I'm trying to pass on hope," said Professor Dumbledore. "Hope can only be extinguished when you give up. I don't mean to do so, and neither should you." He sighed. "Think on what I have said Harry. You are not alone in this; should you wish to discuss the matter further, my door remains open to you. Simply ask Professor McGonagall for the password if you wish to see me. Now do try to get some sleep tonight, Harry."

"Alright," said Harry, not feeling as though anything had been resolved, sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.

Professor Dumbledore ushered Harry out of his office and bade him good night. Harry left in silence. At the bottom of the staircase, Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak and slipped it on. He let his feet carry him forward; he wasn't sure where he was going until he got there. There was quite a chill at the top of the astronomy tower, and winds blowing every which way. Harry ignored them as he approached the crenulations and looked over the side. It was a very long way down.

'Should I jump?' wondered Harry. If he had to die, he rather thought that a long fall with the wind in his hair was the way to go. 'Could I?' Harry didn't know if he could. It was no secret that he had a rather strong survival instinct, for all that he had risked it more than once the year before. There was a difference between going into a dangerous situation though, and just throwing your life away. When Harry had faced the troll, when he had faced Quirrell, he had given it his all. He had had no intention of dying. But now... Harry didn't think he could take that step forward.

Perhaps he wouldn't need to though. Were he to stand on the edge, with strong gusts going in every direction, he wouldn't need to make a decision. Chance, the magic thick in the cold Hogwarts air, could decide his fate for him. If he fell, then Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have to worry about fixing him, he could focus all of his attention on finding Voldemort's horcruxes so that Voldemort could be killed once and for all. Harry's thoughts turned to the invisibility cloak he still wore, he didn't want to get any blood on it.

The thought brought him up short. Whatever way the wind blew him, whatever _chance_ chose for him, climbing up onto the edge, one way or another would be an attempt at suicide. It was such an ugly word, 'suicide'. Harry backed away from the crenulations, and kept moving until his back hit the wall behind him. He sat down and resumed the position he had taken outside of the headmaster's office.

What would Ron and Hermione think if he killed himself. He couldn't fool himself into thinking that they would be anything but devastated. Besides, Harry didn't even have a will yet, what would happen to all of his things? Would it all go to the Dursley's?

Maybe he should give Professor Dumbledore a chance to find a solution. After all, there was no reason to think that Voldemort was coming back any time soon.

Harry lost time up on top of the Astronomy tower, but he eventually did leave the cold and return finally to Gryffindor tower. Once again though, Harry didn't have a password. Harry tried nocking to no avail; he must have been out for longer than he had thought, for there were no older students still up. Harry made himself comfortable on the hallway floor. He didn't try to sleep though; he stayed up to finally write down that the Weasley twins should get his prized invisibility cloak. They would make the best use of it.

A/N: Hey guys, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know what you think. Reviewing is the best way to let me know if I could be doing something better, or if I've been neglecting some aspect of the story.

Also, my beta, The Lord of Chaos, who has also been continuing my Isis's Bane series, has let me know that he will soon be posting a one shot on his own profile before he writes the next chapter of Isis's Bane. Keep an eye out for it.


	6. 05 Acceptance

A/N: So, right off, sorry everyone for such a long time between updates. I don't have much of an excuse, just a bad case of writers block. Hopefully, I'll be churning out chapters a little more regularly now.

Acceptance

Harry woke up from his position on the ground when the frame of the Fat Lady swung open in the twilit hours that next morning. A couple of older students snuck out of the Gryffindor common room and tiptoed down the hall, for what purpose Harry did not know. They didn't notice that Harry was there. Harry caught the portrait before it could shut closed and sleepily climbed through. The common room was deserted in the early hour, and Harry went straight through to the stairs leading to the dormitories. Three flights up was the second year dorm and Harry slipped in.

Everyone was asleep; Ron's foot stuck out of the hangings, and Neville's soft snores filled the air. Harry smiled at the sight in front of him. He was surprised to find that he missed sleeping in the dorm with all of his year mates. Harry toed off his shoes and shucked off his robe before getting into his bed, not worrying about the clothes he had had on under his school robe.

Drifting off to sleep once more, Harry decided that if nothing else, it was good to be back home.

!

"Alright everyone, bring it in." Oliver was well practiced at making sure his voice reached every corner of the pitch. Harry slowed down, letting the snitch get away from him. Spotting Oliver on the other side of the pitch hovering a few feet off the ground near the hoops, Harry flew down to him. The rest of the team was closer, and Harry was the last to join the huddle.

It was the first practice of the season, or the second, depending on who you asked. The Slytherins had poached the pitch the day before so that they could train Malfoy as their new seeker. Ron still had two more detentions over the altercation that had followed, and the only reason that Harry didn't was because his teammates had held him back. Harry had learned a new word that morning: mudblood. He already hated the word. On the other hand, it was great watching Malfoy belch up slugs.

"Alright, guys," said Wood, "and girls. That's some good flying out there, but you can all take Harry here as an example. He brought some great flying to the pitch last year, but he's really upped his game this year."

Harry smiled bashfully. He was a little embarrassed to be singled out for attention, but he was still glad to be appreciated.

"No fear!" Wood continued. "That's what we all need. If you're flying worried that you're about to get hurt any second, then you're handing the other team a victory over us. Fred, George, you guys are hitting the bludgers like we're your friends, I want you hitting them like we're your enemies."

"We love you too, Ollie," said Fred.

"Not right now, you don't. Now come on," said Oliver, "let's get back up there, and I want you to show me what you can do with a little daring."

The twins just grinned and pulled up into the air as the girls rolled their eyes and took to the air with the quaffle. Harry, his momentary embarrassment forgotten, followed them up, keeping his eyes open for the elusive snitch. The twins seemed to take Oliver's words to heart, glad perhaps for an excuse to cause greater mayhem. Harry saw that the two bludgers were certainly getting closer to the other players.

Harry caught sight of the snitch in the center of the pitch and honed in on it. This had the effect of drawing attention to himself, and Harry quickly had a bludger headed right towards him. Rather than veer off and let the snitch get away, Harry swerved just enough to avoid the iron ball and still follow the spot of gold ahead of him. He heard the crack of a bat behind him, and knew that the other twin had sent the bludger back his way. Rather than look back, Harry listened for the telltale whistle of the approaching ball. Harry grinned as he heard it approach, and quickly ducked down to let it pass over him. The maneuver almost worked, but Harry pulled up too quickly and was clipped by the bludger on his shoulder, nearly wrenching Harry off his broom completely. He wound up hanging from just his left hand. Seeing that he had lost sight of the snitch, Harry slowed his broom down. Unable to change his altitude though, Harry allowed himself to drop nearly three meters down to the pitch below. A sharp pain in his left ankle quickly preceded his collapse onto the pitch.

"Harry," Harry heard one of the twins hovering behind him, his voice chiding but amused, "we would have helped out if you had waited a second."

"I'm alright," Harry said with a smile that was only a little forced. He got up, keeping his weight off of his left foot. The other twin flew down to him, Harry's broom in his hand, and Harry accepted it from him, using it to prop himself up on the left. In seconds, he was surrounded by the rest of his team.

"How's that ankle?" asked Oliver.

"I'll need to see Madam Pomfrey," said Harry, "but I can keep playing if you want."

"Harry, that is the spirit," said Oliver emphatically, a smile on his face. "But you can save it for the game. I saw the hit just now; next time you try to predict a bludger, you'll know to give it a little more time to clear you. Fred, why don't you help him get up the steps."

"See you guys in a jiffy then," said Fred.

The other's flew off into the sky and Fred hovered down next to Harry. "How's that shoulder?" he asked.

"Just bruised," said Harry.

"Alright then," said Fred, "you want to fly up to the castle?"

"You want to fly up to the infirmary?" asked Harry.

Fred grinned. "Alright, but if anyone asks, you're the one corrupting me, got it?"

"Got it," said Harry.

"Flying through the corridors," Fred mused. "We'll make a proper trouble maker out of you yet. But you know I'm going to get trouble from the girls for your twisted ankle."

"I think it's broken," said Harry.

"Well don't tell _them_ that," said Fred.

"Why are you getting trouble for it?" asked Harry. "You're supposed to hit the bludgers at me."

"Oh, I can hear it now," said Fred. "How could you aim right at him? He's just a kid."

Harry supposed that Fred was trying to sound like one of the girls in particular, but his voice was coming out as too much of a screech for Harry to be able to tell which. "I'm not just a kid," said Harry a little indignantly as he carefully mounted his broom.

"They're girls, Harry, and you're like, half their size. They think you should be wrapped in swaddling cloth."

"I should get back up there," Harry grumbled, looking up at the sky.

"Nah, come on Harry, it doesn't work like that, trust me. They'll think you're acting stupider, not older. Best get yourself taken care of before you go back to practice.

"Alright," Harry said, suspecting that Fred was right. "Come on then."

Together they shot off towards the castle, Harry keeping pace with Fred's slower broom. Within moments, they pulled up at the stairs leading up to the entrance hall. Fred quickly got off his broom and went to check if the coast was clear. He hopped onto his broom and waved Harry on.

Harry zoomed up the steps and through the doors, Fred right behind him. It was only a short journey to the hospital wing, just up the stairs in the entry hall, a left turn, and down the corridor. They very nearly made it without being seen.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, what is the meaning of this?" It was professor McGonagall, only Snape was worse to get caught by when you were breaking the rules.

Harry and Fred both came up short.

"Professor," said Harry, at a loss for anything else to say.

"Harry's injured, Professor," said Fred quickly, "I'm escorting him up to the infirmary."

"And why did this necessitate the two of you zooming through the castle like there was something chasing you?"

"Well Harry hurt his ankle, and we thought it would be best to keep him off his feet."

"That doesn't explain why _you_ are on a broom, Mr. Weasley, nor why you were going so quickly through the halls."

"Well, it's hurting him an awful lot, Professor, and we wouldn't want to keep him in pain. And as for myself-"

Harry interrupted him. "I thought it would be fun, Professor, but I suppose that it was a bad decision."

"That it was, Mr. Potter, but thank you for being straight forward. Five points from Gryffindor for this stunt, and don't let me see the like again. Off the broom, Mr. Weasley, the both of you can be on your way to the infirmary, slowly."

"Yes, professor," said Harry, and they were on their way.

Fred gave Harry a small glare.

"You were going to get us a detention," said Harry, unapologetically.

"Sure," said Fred, "but it's not Hogwarts without at least a few detentions. I had a good spiel ready about how growing pains had nearly crippled me." Harry looked at him dubiously. "Besides, she usually gives fun ones."

"Fun detentions," said Harry, letting his voice reflect the sure belief that something was wrong with Fred.

"You should know," said Fred, "you guys got to go into the forbidden forest last year."

"I nearly got killed by Voldemort," said Harry.

"Really?" asked Fred in surprise.

"Yeah," said Harry, "he was killing unicorns."

"Creepy," said Fred, "but that's hardly likely to happen again. There's all sorts of stuff she'll have you doing if you get in trouble that you never get to do otherwise."

"Like what?" asked Harry.

"Like climbing around on the roofs," said Fred. "We had to clear up a doxy infestation from the chimneys. None of the other professor's give interesting detentions."

"Let me get this straight, you get detentions on purpose?"

"Not all the time," said Fred, "but sometimes things just get so dull out here."

"You're bonkers," said Harry.

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Now, if you don't want to get your ears yelled off, and then spelled back on again," said Fred as they approached the infirmary doors, "I wouldn't mention our little adventure."

Harry didn't mention it, but they both wound up getting a lecture about quidditch safety, and Harry was forbidden from rejoining practice for the day.

!

Hermione was worried.

Anxiety was a normal state of being for her, even her parents thought she worried too much. But Hermione was fairly certain that she had good cause to be worried most of the time. There were so many ways life could go wrong, so many ways to make mistakes. Hermione tried to make sure that nothing took her by surprise, so that she and everyone she cared about could live, for lack of a better phrase, happily ever after. Or at least, happily until the next possible disaster.

Things had already gone wrong though, and now Hermione was worried about damage control. Harry had faced Voldemort and killed Quirrel, and then nearly been killed by his relatives. She was also pretty sure that Ron was at least a little bit traumatized over the whole ordeal as well. Both of them needed at least a little fixing.

There had been a lot less to worry about before Hermione had met Harry and Ron; they were trouble magnets, (though to be fair, she was the one that had brought them into contact with a fully grown mountain troll). Still, she wouldn't give them up for anything. Hermione had never had any real friends before, not like Ron and Harry, and she wasn't going to give them up just because they were difficult. That didn't stop her from wishing that they were less difficult.

What worried her specifically in that moment, while eating a pot roast in the Great Hall, was that this was the fourth time that Harry had been injured while playing quidditch since the end of the last year. Before that, in all of the games he had played, and all the practices, Harry had never had a quidditch injury, even when Quirrell had tried to shake him off his broom.

Hermione had heard all about how much better Harry's flying had become since the last year, and that was what worried her the most. She could understand it if his flying had suffered after his head injury, but if he was flying better and getting injured more, then something else had changed, and it was hurting Harry. Harry wasn't clumsy; he wasn't accident prone. No, what Hermione was sure was wrong, and Ron agreed with her, was that Harry had become a great deal more reckless.

It wasn't that Harry was showing off, or trying to get attention, Harry was still somewhat reserved in that regard. The way that Ron had described it, Harry was mostly looking for a thrill. That was what worried her, because in her opinion, Harry was too young to be a thrill seeker. How was he to know yet what was safe, and what was too dangerous? What was going to stop him from getting himself seriously injured or, heaven forbid, killed.

How his behavior all related to what had happened to him over the summer, Hermione didn't know, but surely there was a link. Anyone could see that, even Harry could probably tell. She wanted to bring it up with him, tell him that she thought there were better ways for him to go about things than to fly like a loon. But if she was going to be frank with herself, and she always tried to be, she didn't know how to have that conversation without her words being translated as "Harry, you're acting like a crazy person because your Uncle nearly killed you." That would surely be a brief and unproductive conversation.

Not that she hadn't said anything: "Harry, you really must be more careful up there. You don't want to keep getting hurt, do you?" In it's own way, that had been a brief and unproductive conversation as well.

So she watched Harry eat his own roast, and nod to some comment Ron had made. She worried that she should be doing something that she wasn't, worried that everything would all fall apart again, worse than before. She worried that she wasn't being a very good friend. If there was anything other than school that Hermione was good at, it was worrying.

!

"Move Potter, or the muggles will give you a beating."

Of course, the voice belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy, who pushed past Harry and turned down another corridor. He was clearly in a hurry, and Harry viciously hoped that he was late to wherever he was going.

Ron responded by shouted out a vulgar request that Malfoy perform a feat that Harry wasn't sure was anatomically possible, which brought even more stares towards them.

"Ron honestly, what if a professor had heard, or a prefect."

It was a measure of her anger towards Malfoy that she wasn't telling him off for the words themselves. Harry meanwhile was trying to swallow his own anger as he also tried to resist the urge to hide from all of the people looking at them; at him, in particular.

"Would you guys quit making a scene?" he asked his friends.

This was the third time Malfoy had made a comment like that since they had arrived at Hogwarts, though he usually took the time to draw more attention. Each time, Harry had to resist the urge to give it to him. Malfoy didn't actually know what had happened, and Harry wanted to keep it that way.

"Sorry Harry," said Ron, "but it ticks me off too."

For all that it was an apology, Ron's comment had the effect of making Harry feel guilty. It was a reminder that Ron had been the one to find him in his cupboard. Harry knew that that couldn't have been a good experience for him.

"I know," said Harry. "I just want to punch him, I don't want to bother with a hex."

"I'm not saying he wouldn't have it coming," said Hermione, "but you should keep on ignoring him, Harry. You know he wants a reaction from you."

But Harry knew that that would be easier said than done. Malfoy knew which buttons to push. It was going to be a long year if Malfoy kept up, and an even longer one if he got any more information.

"Come on," said Harry, "let's see this new Defense Professor.

If Professor Lockhart could be any more full of himself, Harry couldn't see how. They had learned on the first night that the man who's face graced all of their defense texts (as well as why _everyone_ had had to buy _all_ of his books, which was a source of grumbling among most of the boys) was also to be their professor. Harry had thought at first that while the man did seem to be a bit of a prat, he was at least highly skilled in what he was supposed to teach.

Now, after having suffered through the man's vain quiz, and having witnessed the man fail to contain a cage full of pixies, Harry was sure that the man was a total prat, and not at all qualified to teach at all. Corralling the man's pixies was actually a little fun though, if you looked at it like a game. Plus five points to catch a pixie, plus ten to nock it out. Minus five if one manages to pull your hair. Harry thought Hermione had won by the end, but since he hadn't been able to get either Ron or Hermione to keep track, he couldn't be sure.

Still, when he wasn't busy keeping score with the pixies, Harry couldn't help but wonder just what it was that he was still going to school for. Why was he wasting his time going to classes and learning things (or not, as the case may be) if he had next to no hope for a future? Why did he put up with Malfoy and Snape? Struggling to put the last pixie in it's cage, Harry wondered what he was supposed to do with his life if he was going to die young. Everyone around him was getting ready for the rest of their lives, but Harry probably didn't have one.

For the first time, Harry imagined himself leaving Hogwarts. While walking to Charms, Harry entertained a fantasy of storming out of the dungeons in righteous anger after Snape had wronged him one too many times. He could leave school, and live off of what his parents had left him until it was time for him to die, whenever that might be.

He wouldn't want to leave Ron and Hermione of course, that thought put a stop to the fantasy. Though, if he lived in Hogsmeade, then Ron and Hermione could visit him on Hogsmeade weekends next year.

Harry and his friends entered the Charms classroom and made their way to their seats. Professor Flitwick could be heard bustling around on the other side of the room, but the diminutive professor could not be seen past the sea of students and desks. Harry yawned in his seat, and wondered if he'd be able to get away with a nap. Perhaps if he was sitting behind someone bigger than him... He glanced over at Hermione, and knew that she wouldn't let him get away with it.

The school bell rang, and Harry resigned himself to staying awake. He slumped his head into his hand and watched as Professor Flitwick took his position at the front of the class.

"Greetings, my students, greetings!" the man cried out exuberantly. "Welcome back to another year of charms. I trust you all had interesting vacations."

There were some smiles and nods scattered around the classroom. Harry reflected that, if nothing else, his vacation had been interesting.

"I only hope that you haven't all forgotten your charms while you were having fun. Ms. Patil, what is the incantation for the hovering charm?"

"Wingardium Leviosa," Parvati answered correctly.

"Would you care to demonstrate?" asked Professor Flitwick.

"Alright," said Parvati, and she flourished her wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried out at Lavender's charms book, which flew up into the air.

"Excellent," chirped Professor Flitwick. "Now, we will of course be doing some revision of last year's material." This statement was met with some groans from around the classroom, Harry's among them. What was the point of this? "Now now, none of that," said the Professor, we will be revising, but I thought we might start with something new today. I'm sure you all remember the bluebell flame charm."

Again there were nods from around the room, as well as a few verbal affirmatives.

"Today, we're going to be using a cousin of that charm. A more dangerous one to be certain, but one that seems to be more popular. Incendio creates a more natural flame, and is more often used when trying to burn something. Now, before we begin that lesson, let's go over the bluebell flame once more, just to make sure we all have it down. Wands out, everyone."

Harry had perked up by now, as talk of fire had peaked his interest. He remembered the bluebell flame from last year. Hermione had been the only one to truly master it, though everyone else had managed it passably, Harry included. There was a shuffling of book bags and pockets as Harry and his classmates removed their wands. Upon Professor Flitwick's instruction, they all cast the spell. On his first try, Harry had a flickering blue flame in his hand; not as strong or warm as Hermione's, but good enough.

When Neville had finally gotten the spell right to Professor Flitwick's satisfaction on his fourth try, the lesson began in earnest. Of course, being a responsible adult, much of this lesson was devoted to a safety lecture. Don't cast this spell at or around living creatures, Don't do anything with this spell that you wouldn't do with real fire, because it is real fire. Don't use it when you're not certain you can contain it. But after all that came the fun part.

"Incendio," Professor Flitwick cast at a log set on his desk. A red jet of flame spewed forth from his wand and consumed the log, which began to crackle merrily as the flames took. The professor levitated the log over to the fireplace in order to continue the lesson. Soon, every student in the room had a metal tray in front of them, with a wooden stick on it. Professor Flitwick had already placed fire repellant charms on every surface of the room, and arranged everyone so that they couldn't accidentally hit each other. Neville, he especially took care with. He explained to them that when they had successfully lit their stick on fire, it would be moved to a fire pit in the middle of the class and they could begin again on another stick. If they got a big enough fire going, they'd all have s'mores. Harry considered this further proof of the Professor's great ability at motivating his students.

It turned out of course, that this great motivation was required because the spell was more difficult than any other they had tried in the class before.

"I think I saw a spark on that one," Ron said to Harry encouragingly.

"Probably just a trick of the light," said Harry, though he had seen it too.

"Oooh," said Hermione, as her stick began to smolder and smoke."

Professor Flitwick noticed the effect and encouraged her. "One more try, Miss Granger, I think you have it!"

"Incendio," Hermione incanted, and a small spurt of flame left her wand and started tickling the still smoking stick in front of her. The flames from her wand quickly died, but the stick had caught the flame and continued to burn.

"Excellent, Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor. Let's get that over to the fire pit, and see if we can't add to it before the flames go out. Imagine yourselves, everyone, roasting marshmallows for the last half hour of class, instead of taking notes on revision material."

While Hermione carefully carried her tray to the fire pit, everyone else in the room redoubled their efforts to set the stick in front of them aflame.

It was a few more minutes before there were any more successes, though Hermione managed two more in that time, but Seamus finally managed it, followed by Harry. Soon, Harry found himself churning out more burning sticks for the class fire. He had to admit to himself, he did like seeing things burn. Looking at his classmates, he didn't think he was alone in the feeling. They eventually did have a sizable fire going, especially once Professor Flitwick let Hermione and Seamus practice on larger sticks. Even Neville had managed to contribute to the conflagration by the time Professor Flitwick was passing around toasting forks and marshmallows.

By the time Harry was munching on his first s'more (a little burnt, but still good), he found that his mood had done a complete turn around. This was what school was about, this was why Hogwarts was more than just a place to stay away from the Dursley's. Magic was, well, magical. It was the legacy passed on to him by his parents, it was what had saved him from the normal world of the Dursleys, and everything that that had meant to them. Magic wasn't just a tool he used, it was a part of him, and Harry wanted to continue learning it. He remembered the wonder of his last year, and knew that it was only going to get better, as he learned more.

Maybe Harry wouldn't ever graduate from Hogwarts. Maybe he'd never need to know half of the things that he was learning. But that didn't mean that he didn't want to learn them for the sake of that experience. Magic was wondrous, even if he had to put up with the likes of Snape and Lockheart. And if he only had a limited amount of time to live, Harry was determined to fill that life with as many wondrous things as he could fit in it.

!

Harry waited a couple of days before he approached Professor Dumbledore again.

"You know, Harry, you can let Professor McGonagall know when you want to see me," said Professor Dumbledore, as he approached Harry in the hallway. Harry was once again waiting just next to the gargoyle that guarded the stairwell up to the headmaster's office.

"I don't want to be a bother, really," said Harry.

"Nonsense," said Professor Dumbledore. "If we didn't want to be bothered, none of us would have become teachers. Indeed, should you need me while I am in my office, simply give the password 'ice mice', and you will be allowed up."

The gargoyle sprung to the side as the professor spoke, and Harry followed the professor up the stairs. Once inside the headmaster's fantastical office, the professor took a seat behind the desk, and motioned for Harry to sit down.

"Now Harry," said the headmaster, "what is it that brings you here today?"

"I wanted to let you know that I've decided..." Harry began, before realizing that he wasn't really sure what he had decided, other than the fact that he wasn't going to kill himself. He still didn't have much faith in the possibility of finding a way to destroy the horcrux without destroying himself, and he wasn't keen on the idea of saving himself, while the rest of the world suffered, but he wasn't going to kill himself anytime soon.

"I've decided to live," said Harry. "I mean, I know I have to die eventually, sooner, rather than later, but I want to still do things, like quidditch, and classes, and flying, and stuff." He felt himself blush a little. He didn't usually ramble like that.

"I'm glad to hear you say that," said Professor Dumbledore. "I certainly have no intention of holding you back from any of those things."

"I still know that I have to die," said Harry. "Or that I probably have to die. But there's no hurry, I guess, if there's those other horcruxes out there, so I figure I'll make the most of things."

The headmaster sighed. "Well, that's a step in the right direction, Harry, though I hope that you will come to have a little more faith that a solution can be found."

"And I hope you don't put off killing Voldemort on my account," said Harry. The headmaster's eyebrows rose, though the rest of his face remained unreadable. Harry hoped that he wasn't being very impertinent. "I'm just not sure your priorities are right. I appreciate it, I really do. It would be great if you could figure out another way to get the horcrux out of me. But killing Voldemort is more important. Beside's he'll probably just come and kill me anyway, if he finds a way to get his body back."

The brief silence that followed Harry's declaration was as awkward as Harry had feared, but finally the Headmaster spoke. "I cannot fault your reasoning, Harry, though I hope that you have realized by now that there is more to magic, more to the world around us, than mere reason. My highest priority is to save as many lives as I can from Voldemort's machinations, but understand that I will endeavor to include you in that number.

"I may fail, Harry. I hold no illusion otherwise. It gives me comfort though to know that you have not given up on life yet."

Harry nodded, almost mournfully. "Thank you, sir."

"Was there anything else that you came up here for?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"Erm, yes sir," said Harry. "That is, I was wondering about my relatives." Harry paused here. This was certainly not a conversation he wanted to have, not least because of his feelings about them. Mostly though, he was worried that it was a conversation that could end up sending him back to his aunt. Still though, it wasn't a subject that he could let drop. "Don't I still need my mother's protection? When you made it so I wouldn't have to go back to them, I kind of thought it was because you didn't expect me to live for that long, but if I have time... What if I start to hear the voice again?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "That is actually something that you don't need to worry about anymore, Harry. Though I hope to ensure many summer break's for you, you need not fear that you will return to your aunt, nor the return of the voice. It was not easy, and it is something of an ongoing project, but I have found an alternative solution to extend that protection to you."

"But how?" asked Harry. "I thought it was all about living with a blood relative."

"Suffice it to say, Harry, that there are magics in this world that you cannot even begin to imagine. I wouldn't know how to begin describing the method. It is a discussion, perhaps, for when you have had a more detailed magical education."

"Er, that's alright, sir. I guess all that matters is that I don't have to go back. Thank you, I mean."

"You are very welcome, Harry. I assure you, the steps that I have taken are the least I could have done, after having left you there in the first place. I had hoped that you would find a loving home there, but it seems of course that I was wrong."

"You don't owe me, sir," said Harry, a little red faced.

"Now that is a matter of opinion, Harry. Forgive me if I'll be biased towards my own." Harry had nothing to say to that, and the headmaster cleared his throat. "Well, Harry, if there was nothing else that you wished to discuss, I'm sure that there's some form of mischief that you would rather be up to before bed time arrives."

Harry shrugged. "I have some homework I could be doing."

"Well, I suppose that that will have to do instead," said the Headmaster. "Off you go, Harry. Have a good night."

"Good night, Professor," said Harry, as he stood to leave. It had been an awkward conversation, but one well worth it, now that he knew for certain that he wouldn't have to go back to his Aunt ever again.

!

Albus watched Harry leave with remorseful eyes, for all that the conversation had been positive over all. In the three days since their last meeting, he had of course made no progress on the matter at hand. The only positive development seemed to be that Harry seemed to have given up looking into a premature demise. The prophecy of course was an ace up his sleeve, but one that Albus was loathe to use. While it would surely convince Harry that his immediate survival was paramount, Albus feared that it would cause him to seek out a confrontation with Voldemort before he was ready. Also, he had to admit to himself, he did not want to add another burden to Harry's shoulder's. It was remarkable that the boy had not broken already.

Albus spent that evening putting the finishing touches on the day's work. But when he finished, he still had one more matter to attend to. Going to one of the silver devices from a shelf behind him, Albus waved his wand over it, causing it to emit a faint whistle. Albus frowned at the result; his plan was not progressing quickly enough.

Giving the matter a moment's thought, Albus nodded to himself before drawing his wand and stepping through the floo.

Petunia's aim had improved, but a deft flick of Albus's wand deflected the piece of china that she had thrown at him.

"Petunia, my dear, if you continue to break your possessions, I will simply have the house elves stop bringing you new ones."

"Good," said the woman scathingly, "at least then I won't have to see the little freaks so often."

"Very well," said Albus, "I will allow you to live in squalor, if that is what you wish. The elves will of course need to make certain that your conditions here are sanitary of course, we wouldn't want you to get ill."

"Don't you speak to me like you give a damn about my health!" Petunia screamed. "You've ruined my life, you've ruined my family."

"You and your family made choices, Petunia. Choices that have led us both to bottom levels of the Hogwarts dungeons. It would have been much better, of course, if Harry and your family could have all continued living at Privet Drive, but the two of you nearly killed him, so here we are."

"It was the boy's own fault," said Petunia, spitefully.

"His own fault that you left him to die?" asked Albus. "You should consider yourself fortunate that you are not in a prison cell like your husband. Here at least, you have the option of living in relative comfort and safety. As I understand it, Vernon has already been in a number of dangerous brawls during his incarceration. It may surprise you to know how many prisoners have children left in the care of relatives."

"I would rather be in a prison than here," said Petunia.

"But what you would rather has no bearing on the matter," said Albus coldly. "You lost your right to determine your own fate when you left your blood to die. Now _I_ am responsible for his protection, and I will do whatever it takes. Now, I told you when I brought you here that it would not be necessary for you to remain the entire year in order to build up the wards, but if you continue to rebel against your situation, those wards will remain weak, and here you will stay year round."

"How dare you!" said Petunia. "You said it would be months!"

"I said that you would have to accept your situation. Accept that this is now where you live, until Harry graduates. Yet you continue to stew in your own vitriol, rather than settle down. You could have worthwhile activities to occupy your time, if you wanted; literature of any kind is available. You could garden, paint, write, but you continue to behave as though your escape will happen at any moment."

"Someone will find me; your people have laws."

"Yes," said Albus, "my actions are completely illegal, many would say unethical. However, no one will find you, I have made certain of that. Only the house elves even know of these rooms, and they are completely loyal to me. The only way in for any human is through that fireplace, which is connected only to my office, and only I can activate it. I have explained all this to you before."

"That doesn't mean that I have to accept it," said Petunia.

"It does, if this is the only place you will be able to see your son."

"What?" asked Petunia.

"I have decided, that in order to help you accept that this is your home now, I must promise to never allow you contact with Dudley outside of this castle, until it is time for you to leave permanently. When you are finally able to have excursions outside of Hogwarts, you will be completely unable to contact your son. You will only see him, if I bring him to you, here."

"You can't do that!"

"I can, and I will," said Albus. "If that is what it takes to make this work, then that is what I will do. Clean yourself up, clean your apartment up, and find something to occupy your time. When I am satisfied that you are making an effort to settle in, then I will bring your son to visit you."

"Bring Dudley here?" asked Petunia, hope and fear both evident in her voice.

"Yes," said Albus. "I assure you, he will be safe in my care." As Harry was not safe in yours, he left unsaid. Dudley was currently residing with his paternal aunt, but it would be a simple matter to arrange secret visits.

Petunia looked away from him. "Leave me," she said. "I am busy now."

!

A/N: I've been waiting to write that last scene there for a while now. Is that sadism, or righteous anger on Harry's behalf? Whichever it is, tell me how you liked it, and the rest of the chapter. Remember, reviews bring faster updates.


	7. 06 Deceit

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter in any way, nor am I in any official way affiliated with it. Please don't sue me, I haven't anything to spare.

Deceit

Harry used to be ambivalent about Halloween. He never got to dress up and go trick-or-treating, but he did like to see the costumes that the other kids wore, and he'd usually get to have some candy from school. He had become aware that it was the anniversary of his parents deaths when he was nine, but even still he knew that it was just another day out of the year. His first year at Hogwarts had been the first year that he had really celebrated it, and for a while it had been the day that he and Ron had saved Hermione from the troll. But as the holiday had begun to approach again in October, Harry felt a return of the melancholy he had started the year with. Of a sudden, the day had taken a sinister pall; the day he had lost his family and became a Horcrux. It was the day he had been consigned to an odd sort of half life.

So it was that when Halloween finally came, Harry didn't really feel like celebrating. He had been tempted for a moment when Nearly-Headless-Nick had been hinting around that he wanted some corporeal attendants at his Death-Day Party, but had decided that there was a fine line between feeling a little morbid, and going to a party for morbidity. Instead of going to the Halloween feast, or the Death-Day Party, Harry found himself wandering the castle halls alone.

It wasn't the first time he'd wound up taking a wander, but it was the first time he had missed a meal to do it. Ron had agreed to bring Harry up some food from the feast, though Hermione had huffed something about Ron 'enabling' him. Harry hoped that Ron didn't bring too much food back, he wasn't feeling very hungry.

He'd seen a lot more of the castle this year than the last. With all of his wanderings, Harry was getting a better idea of the layout of the castle. He'd also discovered a couple of places where older students went to snog, having inadvertently interrupted a few of them, one time or another. One older Ravenclaw girl had told him off for snooping around, before making him promise not to tell anyone what he had seen. It was an easy promise to make, as he had no idea who either of them were, and couldn't have cared less what they got up to together. It wasn't as though he had wanted to see them snogging in the first place.

It was on wanders like today's that Harry wondered about things like whether he would ever snog someone himself. Not that he was particularly interested in such things yet, but he did know that it was coming. Or, it was if he lived long enough. That was what everything seemed to come back to. Harry wanted to make the most of his time, but how much time was that? Would he graduate and get a job? Marriage was out, but should he even have a girlfriend? That would be a pretty lousy thing to do after all, 'Sorry love, but I have to go die now.' Didn't the same sentiment apply to Ron and Hermione as well? Harry couldn't imagine losing either of them, how would they feel losing him after years of friendship? Would they even get those years? Harry wished he could be like Dumbledore, with more answers than questions, instead of the other way around.

Harry was somewhere in the dungeons, he could hear some awful music coming from somewhere nearby, probably the Death-Day Party, when he heard the voice. Oh, not _the_ voice, the one that had started this whole awful thing, though that was Harry's first inclination. He could not tell where the voice was coming from at first, and it was so sinister sounding; it certainly didn't belong to a student or a staff member. And so, Harry could be excused for the jolt of adrenaline that shot into his system, making his mouth taste bitter when it first sounded. It was just as well, for there was danger afoot.

"RIP, TEAR, KILL," said the voice, and it seemed to be moving away from him. Harry had frozen when he had first heard the voice, but hearing it move, being able to pinpoint it's direction, pulled him free, and he chased after it. There was a malevolent entity about, and he was perhaps the only person in the castle who knew about it.

Harry ran as fast as he could, and he was a very fast runner, but he only just was able to keep up with the voice, who's words only became more disturbing.

"I SMELL FLESH ONCE MORE, OH LET ME KILL!"

Harry finally remembered to draw his wand, though he didn't know how much of a help it would be. He didn't know anything more powerful than a couple of basic jinxes. Perhaps he would be able to do as Ron had done against the troll last year and levitate something at whatever the voice belonged to.

Suddenly though, the voice stopped, and Harry slowly stopped in turn, his feet thumping into the silence. There was an intersection up ahead, three options to choose from, and Harry was suddenly without direction. He took a moment to orient himself, finding that he was up on the second floor. Suddenly conscious of how vulnerable he was as a target, Harry crept forward to the intersection. Picking the wall on his left, Harry clung to it as he moved forward to peer around the corners. If there was anything on the right he would be terribly visible, so Harry kept his eyes on the far hallway until he was at the intersection and had most of it in sight. Finally, he turned his heard around the corner on his left.

Something had definitely happened down there, but Harry couldn't tell what. The only thing that seemed clear was that there was no great monster crouching in wait. Still, Harry used caution as he made his way down the hallway, very conscious of his surroundings.

There was a large puddle of water on the floor, and the reflections of the torches in the hallway made it the most obvious. Large red letters marred the hallway wall.

My enemies beware

I have opened

the Chamber of Secrets

There was also a large pile of rags on the floor, only Harry knew that they were no rags. Harry approached the body, but even before he saw the face, he already knew who it was. No one else in the castle had the ridiculous mix of very blond hair and flamboyant robes. Professor Lockhart lay toppled on his side, his body unnaturally rigid, a look of terror plastered on his face.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and grasped the man's wrist to check for a pulse. There was nothing there, but Harry remembered that there was a curse that could make the whole body freeze, and maybe you wouldn't feel a pulse then either. It didn't have to mean that the man in front of him was dead. Harry once more remembered his wand.

'Finite,' he incanted at the Professor, it was a spell that they had just learned that month in charms, useful for situations just like this, and Harry had gotten it right in class. But nothing happened to Professor Lockhart. That didn't have to mean that the man was dead, maybe it was just too strong of a curse, Harry was only a second year, after all.

The sound of many footsteps approaching caught his attention. The feast was over, good, someone would go get a professor, a different professor, and Harry wouldn't be the one responsible for figuring out if Lockhart was alive or not. Surely the twat wasn't dead...

"What the Hell?"

That was an older Hufflepuff Harry didn't recognize.

"Someone go get a professor," said Harry, "something's hurt Professor Lockhart."

No one did anything, and the hallway had filled up much more quickly than Harry would have imagined.

"Isn't someone going to go get someone?" Harry shouted.

"My enemies beware," Draco's voice was unmistakable. "I bet it'll be the mudbloods next."

Harry stared at the boy, his mouth agape at what must be, or what Harry hoped must be, a new low for him. He and the rest of the crowd were startled out of their silence by the shouts of the castle caretaker, Argus Filch.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" The man pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and seemed taken aback himself by the sight of Professor Lockhart. But then he smiled.

"Attacked a teacher, have we? Well, you'll be sure to be expelled for this. You haven't killed him have you?"

Harry's eyes widened and he found his voice once more. "I haven't done anything! I found him like this, I don't even know if he is dead. I was trying to help him."

"A likely story," said Filch nastily, clearly enjoying being the first adult on the scene, with no one but himself to pass judgement. Fortunately it was not to last.

"What is happening here?" It was Professor Dumbledore, finally, with more Professors.

"I caught the boy red handed, Professor. He's killed Lockhart."

"I haven't killed anyone!" Harry shouted. Except Quirrell, his conscious told him. "He was the last person here, anyway. He doesn't know what he's talking about. I found Lockhart like this, and then everyone else got here before I could get anyone. He doesn't have a pulse though, and I tried finite, and it didn't work."

More than anyone, it was important that Dumbledore believe him. But the man merely held up a hand and approached Harry and Lockhart. He looked down at the man before waving his wand, levitating Lockhart.

"You need not defend yourself, Harry," he said. "Come though, we will need to know what you know." He walked back to the crowd, which parted silently for him.

"Mr. Brockhurst," said Dumbledore to one of the older boys. "Do go and fetch Madam Pomfrey. Tell her that we are in Professor Lockhart's office."

And so it was that Harry found himself once more in the Defense Professor's office, having been there only a week previous for a detention that he had admittedly deserved, if one went by the letter of the Hogwarts charter, which demanded that students be polite even to lousy professors. The multitude of Lockhart pictures all looked properly aghast at the sight of their fallen originator. Fortunately, wizarding photographs did not have the power of speech, as portraits did, otherwise there would surely have been a cacophony of noise.

Fortunately also, Filch had been sent elsewhere to perform what Harry hoped was a disgusting and backbreaking task. Being accused of murder in front of half the school had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and in spite of Dumbledore's words, Harry was afraid he would have to repudiate the claim.

Professor Dumbledore had begun examining the Defense Professor, his face mere inches away from the body as he poked and prodded. Professor McGonagall was right beside him in his examination. What either of them hoped to divine, Harry couldn't tell.

Mere minutes after they reached the office, Madam Pomfrey came in through the floo. She was too late to join the examination though, as only a moment later, Professor Dumbledore exclaimed, "He is not dead."

Harry let out a sigh of relief that he hadn't realized he had been holding in.

"What's wrong with him?" he blurted out.

"He has been petrified," said Professor Dumbledore. "He will be alright in time, though we shall have to wait for Professor Sprout's Mandrakes to mature so that Professor Snape can brew the restorative draught.

"You will be happy to know Harry that this is not something that a second year Hogwarts student could have done, so do not fear that anyone in this room thinks that you were responsible for Professor Lockhart's condition. However, as you were the one to find him, we must know everything from your perspective."

Harry swallowed and nodded. "I found everything just how it was when you got there, sir. I only touched Lockhart to check his pulse. The water, and the writing on the wall, were there when I got there. I would have gone to get someone, but the feast ended, and everyone got there first."

"Why were you there, Potter?" snapped Snape. "Why did you not attend the feast."

Harry grimaced. "Halloween's not really a day I like to celebrate," he said.

"I do not seem to recall that stopping you last year," said Snape with a sneer.

"That was last year," said Harry, heated at the accusation in Snape's words.

"And that doesn't explain how you happened to arrive at the scene of the crime mere minutes after it must have happened, for Lockhart left the feast mere minutes ahead of everyone else. What were you doing there?"

"I was taking a walk," said Harry.

"What were you doing _there_, at that exact time, Mr. Potter?"

"I followed a voice," said Harry at last, not sure why he had delayed revealing this piece of information, for certainly the voice was important. He looked Professor Dumbledore in the eye. "It was a voice that I'd never heard before," he said, hoping that the Professor would understand that this was not the Horcrux in his head.

"Not Professor Lockhart's voice then," said Professor McGonagall musingly. "Perhaps an older student whom you have not yet met? And why did you follow this voice."

"I don't think it was human," said Harry, nervously. "I followed it because, well, it was talking about killing someone, and it was moving really fast."

"Let me get this straight, Potter," said Snape. "You heard the voice of a dangerously violent magical creature in the castle, and you decided to follow it?"

Harry realized then that this had been why he hadn't said anything at first. It had been stupid to follow the voice. Still, he said, "I said it was moving fast. How could I have told anyone where it was if I didn't follow it?"

"And of course, it had to be you to find the creature, didn't it?" said Snape with great vitriol. "Potter to the rescue, Potter the hero."

"Severus," Professor Dumbledore said, his voice quiet and with only a hint of reproach, but Snape scowled but didn't say anything else.

"Perhaps you should start from the beginning," Professor Dumbledore now addressed Harry.

"Well, I was walking in the dungeons when I first heard it. I'm not sure where I was. I thought it must have been close to Nick's party, because I heard some music there." And so he told them of his flight up to the second floor corridor.

"Very well," said Professor Dumbledore when Harry was done. "If there's nothing else that you have neglected to mention," (Harry's face flushed), "then you may return to your common room."

Harry nodded and turned to go, but stopped short when a plate of sandwiches appeared on the table next to the office door. He turned back to the professors in surprise.

"A growing boy should not go to bed hungry," said Professor Dumbledore, tucking his wand away. "Do help yourself."

Harry nodded in thanks and took a couple of sandwiches from the plate as he left the room. He had finished both of them by the time he reached the common room, and wished he had taken another, for he had not realized at the time how hungry he actually was.

Harry gave the password to the Fat Lady (Wattlebird) and walked into the common room, still wiping mayonnaise from the corner of his mouth. He should have expected the eyes of everyone in Gryffindor tower to be upon him, but it took him by surprise anyway.

There was a moment of uncertainty, where he wasn't sure whether he should just go to his dormitory or talk to everyone who was staring at him. He waited too long to decide though, because the decision was taken out of his hand.

"Is it true? Is Lockhart dead?" Whichever girl asked the question, Harry couldn't see who through the crowd, sounded very grieved.

"No," said Harry. "Professor Dumbledore said he's just petrified, and he'll be okay once the Mandrakes are mature."

"So did you do it then?" someone asked after a moment, perhaps emboldened by the fact that Harry couldn't be a murderer if Lockhart was still alive.

"No," said Harry indignantly. He would have expected a little more support from his own house. "I was just the first person to find him. Besides, Professor Dumbledore said that it could never have been a second year who did it, that it was really advanced magic."

"My sister says that the staff was saying you did it," said Parvati.

"Just Filch," said Harry, narrowing his eyes at her. She shifted nervously. "Who hasn't been accused of terrible things by Filch? Besides, he didn't know anything about what happened in the first place, ask anyone who was there. He was just jumping to conclusions."

Someone piped up. "Lockhart gave you that detention, didn't-"

"Can I just get a show of hands of who's trying to get my star seeker expelled?" Oliver Wood cut in, shouting across the common room. He looked very angry. "I'd just like to have a concise list of who needs to have an 'accident' before the next game."

Harry would have normally appreciated the sentiment, but he wasn't sure that death threats were appropriate given the situation.

"Yeah," now one of the Weasley twins spoke up. "We all know how bludgers have a habit of getting away from people during practice."

"If everyone could get back to what they were doing," came the officious voice of Percy Weasley, who was a sixth year prefect, "and stop making threats," he gave a nasty look to his brothers. "It's clear that Harry here isn't a suspect in the very serious assault of a Professor, otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he? Let's not any of us jump to conclusions, and we can all get ready for bed."

Harry didn't think everyone was quite convinced, but in the face of a prefect, the quidditch captain, and the Weasley twins, they all did as they had been told. (No one raised their hand of course. There wasn't a student in Gryffindor foolish enough to interfere with Oliver Wood's quidditch team.) Harry, feeling very bothered about the whole situation, made his way through everyone, and up to his room. Ron and Hermione were waiting for him on his bed.

"Hey," said Harry tiredly, giving them a weak smile.

Hermione jumped up from Harry's bed. "Harry, there you are," she said. "We heard what happened, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," said Harry, "excepting for half the people in the castle thinking I've killed Lockhart."

Hermione's hands flew to her mouth with a gasp.

"He's actually dead then?" asked Ron, his eyes wide.

"No," said Harry quickly, thinking that perhaps he should have been more circumspect in his speech, considering how much she seemed to like the man. "He's just been petrified."

Harry found himself explaining his story again to his friends, their faces masks of rapt attention. Harry was helped through his story by the plate of chicken wings that Ron had brought up for him.

"They can't blame you, Harry, you'll see. By morning, I'm sure they'll all have their heads on straight. After all, if Professor Dumbledore says you didn't do it, then why should they think different?"

"I don't know, Hermione, someone'll say Harry had motive because of that detention."

"They're already saying that," said Harry morosely. "And don't forget that everyone knows I was involved with something happening to Quirrel last year."

"Don't be silly, Harry," said Hermione. "No one's going to _really_ believe that a second year student could have done that to Professor Lockhart."

Harry frowned, but hoped that she was right. The thought of him stalking professors in the hallways was laughable, wasn't it?

!

Hermione turned out to be right, for the most part. The next morning, Professor Dumbledore addressed the students at breakfast about the attack, saying that no student was suspected of committing it. Other students were still looking at Harry funny, but there was less suspicion and accusation. Their interest in him had merely been renewed.

In particular, the first year Creevey boy, who was keen to take his picture all the time, was somehow of the opinion that Harry had saved Professor Lockhart from being killed outright. Harry wasn't sure how he'd come to this conclusion, but he supposed it was good someone had gone so far to the opposite of the suspicion he had initially faced.

And so life went on as normally as it could. A man named Allius Druthers had taken over the position of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. He wasn't a great teacher, but he at least seemed to know the subject, unlike his predecessor. He had seemed to size Harry up the first time they had had a class together, and Harry wondered if the man had heard any of the rumors. Druthers hadn't said anything to single Harry out though, so Harry wasn't overly bothered by him.

Hermione had been somewhat worked up over the entire incident, and after she got over worrying about Professor Lockhart, she got upset over the part of the event where Harry had gone after the voice on his own. She had brought it up no fewer than three times since, and Harry thought that if he ever graduated from Hogwarts, she would still be bringing it up.

Not one to let a mystery lie, Hermione had discovered the nature of the Chamber of Secrets. It had been Binns of all people that she had gotten the answers out of. Legend held that Salazar Slytherin had created a hidden chamber within the school before he left, and left a monster guarding it. It was said that one day his heir would return to the school to unleash the beast upon the muggleborns. If Harry hadn't been deeply interested in the subject before, he would have been when he learned that piece of information; nothing was going to happen to Hermione if he had anything to say about it.

It was a couple of weeks later that tensions were running high for reasons that had nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets. The second Quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, was only a day away. With all of the talk of the Heir of Slytherin, it was no wonder who three quarters of the school would be rooting for. Now finally, Harry was getting attention of a wholly positive nature (discounting the sneers from Slytherins), as he was Gryffindor's star seeker, and could win the game single handedly if he caught the snitch soon enough.

Still, the excitement of an upcoming game did nothing to dull the boredom of a History of Magic class that had nothing to do with the Chamber. And so, full of restless energy after the class, Harry was ready for some fun.

"Hey Ron, dare me to slide down the bannister," he said to his best friend as the stair case came up to meet them.

Ron gave him a bemused glance. "It's a stone bannister, I don't think you'll get anywhere."

"And you might fall off and hurt yourself," said Hermione.

"If I won't get anywhere, then I can't hurt myself, so neither of you have anything to worry about."

"Fine," said Ron, "I dare you."

"Oh, don't encourage him," said Hermione as the staircase connected to their landing.

"What? It might be good for a laugh," said Ron.

"See you guys down there," said Harry, drawing his wand. He touched it to the bannister and said, "Glacius," causing the banister to frost over in slick ice.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted in exasperation as Harry perched himself up and slid down.

It was a little wobbly at first, but the ride smoothed out as he picked up speed. He grasped the bannister with his top facing hand as he reached the end to slow down, and jumped off at the end to avoid running into the ornament at the bottom. One quick stumble and he got his feet under him. He punched a hand into the air.

"I didn't stick my landing," he shouted back up, "but I think I should get points for style."

"I'll give you a six," Dean shouted from up top.

"Out of five? Cool!"

"Out of a hundred," said Seamus as the group came down to him. Harry made a rude gesture.

"Harry Potter, I don't know what you were thinking!" Hermione nearly shouted as she reached the bottom.

"Relax, Hermione," said Harry placatingly.

"I will not relax," she said, "what if the stairs had started moving again?"

"They only have one way to go," said Harry, "so I would have fallen in, not out. Plus, they don't change that soon after getting somewhere."

"Usually," said Hermione, "they usually don't change that quickly. Don't expect a magical staircase to behave predictably. And what if a first year had seen you? They'll be trying it next." She cast a spell at the bannister, melting the ice.

"We didn't learn that spell until _this_ year," said Harry.

"I learned it after two months here!" said Hermione.

"That's you Hermione," said Ron, "I don't think there are any Hermione's in the first years."

Hermione very nearly preened at that.

"That... that isn't the point. You can't be so reckless, or you really will hurt yourself one of these days. Now if you don't mind, I'll go on to lunch on my own. I don't feel like watching you break your neck."

She stalked off away from Harry and Ron, who was the only Gryffindor to stick around to watch the confrontation. Harry scratched his head as he watched her walk away.

"Girls, right?" he said.

Ron smiled and said, "Yeah." He shifted uncomfortably though. "Still, please try not to kill yourself. I didn't really mean to dare you to do that."

"I'm not going to kill myself," said Harry, suppressing a shudder at the thought that he nearly had on September first. "I mean, if big ugly can't, what chance do I have?"

Ron guffawed. "Big ugly?"

"Well he is!" said Harry earnestly. "You should have seen him last year; a hag would have looked better."

"I don't know, Harry, I think you're probably the only guy who who can get away with calling You-Know-Who names."

"Thats not true," said Harry. "Come on, what terrible thing do you think would happen if you called him moldy-shorts, or something?"

Ron gave a slightly nervous laugh. "I think I'll leave the insults to you, mate."

"Seriously, I didn't get any special power. Anyone can call him whatever they want, so long as it's not nice."

They wound up arguing the point down to lunch, where Hermione told them that they were both idiots.

!

The day of the Quidditch match dawned without a cloud in the sky. Oliver cautioned them all about playing with the sun in their eyes, and using it against the Slytherins. Harry was to fly high, looking down, so that the snitch wouldn't be blocked by the sun's glare. Other than that, he just had to worry about minding bludgers, and making sure that Malfoy didn't get to the snitch before him. No one had much fear about that though. Harry's skill more than made up for the relatively small difference between his and Malfoy's newer broom. The others had more to make up for though, and Harry had been advised to make sure to get the snitch as quickly as possible. The problem lay in the brand new Nimbus 2001s that Malfoy's father had bought for the entire Slytherin team. Speculation held, as did common sense, that Malfoy had bought his way onto the team this way, but that knowledge would do nothing to help the team against their better equipped rivals.

Harry felt that there was something different about soaring up for a match instead of just a practice, or for fun. The attention of the entire school was on him, and for once, not for the Chamber, not for his fame, and not for the vague rumors about his relatives. Up here, he was a quidditch star, and he liked the feeling.

The game had started in favor of Slytherin, their brooms taking an early advantage in snatching the quaffle during the toss up. Gryffindor had taken the ball a couple of times, but the score quickly got away from them, seventy to ten, and Harry estimated that only a half an hour had gone by. If he didn't hurry up and catch the snitch soon, it wouldn't matter who caught it. Well, not as far as the game went; Harry wouldn't be able to show his face again if Malfoy beat him to the snitch.

Harry had taken up a fairly standard searching pattern, staying high as Oliver had said. Malfoy had tried to follow him around and taunt him, but it was somehow easier up there, to ignore the ponce. Harry saw the bludger coming at him from below and he swerved to avoid it. He angled himself to see it, knowing that he was the closest to the aggressive ball, and that he didn't have a handy Weasley twin to bat it away. The ball went by him again, and headed back to the mass of players below, and Harry resumed his search. Moments later, Harry thought he may have seen a flicker of light on the other side of the pitch, when he was warned off by the whistle of the approaching bludger. Harry only just got out of the way in time. Slytherin must have decided that they didn't need to hassle the Gryffindor chasers anymore, which was a bad sign. Harry only hoped that Fred and George were able to use it to their advantage, but he would have to move lower if he wanted Fred and George to have a better chance of looking out for him.

This time he saw what was really going on though; George hit the bludger towards one of the Slytherin chasers, but instead the ball curved back at Harry. Harry dodged away again, and found himself doing the same only moments later as it came back at him. Harry zoomed off, turning his head back to watch the ball follow him in a way that a bludger shouldn't be able to. Harry flew towards one of the twins, Fred, he thought.

"Keep this thing off of me!" he shouted, as he zoomed past. He heard the crack of the bat, but saw the ball change course to follow after him anyway. He put on as much speed as he could, while still looking for the snitch. It seemed that ending the game quickly was now more important than ever.

After another close call between Harry and the bludger, Fred whistled for George to come and help keep the bludger away from Harry. The three of them were attracting a lot of attention from the stands now, even as a furious battle went on for control of the quaffle. Lee Jordan had even been pulled from his commentary on possession of the quaffle to start speculating that, "There's something off with that bludger going after Potter, and I think we can all guess who'd make something like that happen!" Then moments later, "And another great save by Weasley, take that you dirty cheats!" After a couple of minutes of this though, Oliver called for a time out, and the team met down below, after the Harry-seeking bludger had been restrained.

"What's going on up there?" He demanded. "The Slytherin Beaters have had free reign on us!"

"I'm sorry you're feeling the heat, Ollie, but we're trying to keep that thing from killing Harry," said George.

"What's going on with it?" asked Angelina. "Bludgers aren't supposed to behave like that."

"It's been sabotaged," said Katie, who had remained on her broom due to her knee being clipped by the normal bludger.

"It can't have been," said Oliver, "the balls are always kept locked up in Madam Hooch's office to prevent that. She'd have known if anything had happened to them."

"Someone could have cursed it since it was loosed," said Angelina.

"I don't know," said Oliver.

"Quirrel cursed my broom last year, a bludger shouldn't be that much harder," said Harry.

"Still, the question is, what do we do about it?" said Alicia.

"We need to have the ball examined," said Fred, "get it taken care of, and go back to kick some Slytherin arse."

"We can't," said Oliver, "If we want an inquiry, we'd have to forfeit, and if it can't be proven that it was the Slytherins who did it, we won't get a rematch."

"Look," said Fred, "we can't protect Harry and the rest of you at the same time!"

"We just need the snitch, guys," said Oliver.

"Don't put this on Harry," said Katie.

Harry looked at her injured knee. "I'll be sure to catch it quick, whatever happens," he said. "You two take care of the rest of the team," he told the twins, "I'll take care of myself. I think I can outfly a dumb bludger."

George turned angrily on Oliver. "We bloody well told you this would happen, didn't we! He's going to get his neck broken out there, and it'll be your fault."

"What the hell are you on about?" Harry demanded. They'd been talking about him to Oliver?

"Every single time you do something stupid on a broom, this maniac encourages you," said George. "It was cool at first, but you've been toeing the line between dangerous and stupid lately, and now you've just jumped right across."

"It's not stupid," said Harry, "It's quidditch. I can handle the bludger. You guys focus on giving me time to catch the snitch, and we'll cream Slytherin like we're supposed to. I mean look at them; they took the biggest gorillas they could find and stuffed them on racing brooms. No way in hell do they get to win, and I'm not letting the lot of you get sent to the infirmary because some arse sicced a bludger on me. Now let's get up there!'

Wood nodded. "Alright, that's the plan."

The rest of the team looked mutinous, but with both Harry and the team captain on board, there wasn't much left to be said.

"Catch that snitch, Harry!" Oliver shouted after him as Harry flew into the sky. Someone must have hit him, or given him a look though, because he followed it up with, "And don't get hurt!"

Harry had no intention of getting hurt, but his top priority was the same as Oliver's: get the snitch, or die trying. Again, Harry had no intention of dying either, but he wasn't going to live his life afraid of it. He had decided something recently. He had a death sentence hanging over his head, so all there was left to do was to live life to the fullest. Frankly, that meant taking risks; if the universe, or chance, or whatever, wanted him dead, then it would happen. So no, Harry wasn't going to fly scared.

He could tell when the bludgers were released again by the crowds' reactions: the cries of dismay, as well as the cheers from Slytherin. No doubt, they were delighted by the turn of events. It wouldn't surprise Harry at all to learn that the whole house was in on the sabotage.

"And it looks like Wood has left Potter to fend for himself. We can only hope that their star seeker can handle the pressure!"

The bludger caught up to Harry in moments, and Harry flew knowing that he was on his own. The twins might not have liked the situation, but they were team players; they would do their part. Harry put everything into his flying to stay away from the bludger. Malfoy made sure to point out how ridiculous Harry looked.

"Trying out of the ballet, Potter?" he called out as Harry spun in midair.

Harry rather thought that he should be lauded for having survived so far, and grimaced as Malfoy made a rude gesture. Fed up, Harry aimed himself right at the Slytherin boy. Malfoy froze.

Of course, Harry didn't intend to ram him, that would be a fowl. Nothing said that he couldn't run at him and swerve at the last second though, which is what he did. The bludger took a moment to correct its course though, and Malfoy wound up hit in the arm.

Harry heard the collision behind him, and resisted the urge to smile. There was no need to be vindictive, after all. The maneuver had worked out so well though, that Harry kept on using it when he saw the chance. He'd fly at a Slytherin player from behind and at an angle, and three times out of five he was able to get a hit.

The Slytherins called a timeout of their own, and the bludger's were once again restrained. The Gryffindor team figured that they covered the same things that had been covered during Gryffindor's time out. The Slytherin's couldn't call for an inquiry without forfeiting. The added benefit, as the twins pointed out, was that if they actually were the ones to tamper with the bludger, it would be a lose-lose situation for them.

No inquiry was called for in the end, but Oliver told Harry that, at one-seventy to fifty, he had only one priority. Harry nodded with determination.

It was only moments after taking to the air for the third time that Harry saw the snitch sitting high up on his side of the field. Harry took off after it, taking note as he did that the bludger was racing at him from the other side of the pitch. He thought that it would be an easy race between himself and the bludger, himself being much closer to the snitch, but the small ball took flight in the opposite direction.

Harry cursed. He flattened himself out on the broom handle, eking out as much speed as he possibly could. There was commotion throughout the field as players and spectators alike took note of Harry chasing after the snitch ("Spinnet tosses- Would someone tell Potter he's supposed to be flying in the opposite direction?), the bludger coming at them both head on. Someone screamed. Harry could see Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, racing to make himself a contender for the snitch, but he would be too late.

Harry pushed himself forward on his broom, inches from the snitch; the bludger looking larger than ever. His fingers curled around the ball, its golden wings fluttering furiously, and he swerved away just as the bludger hit him in the chest.

'So this is what beaters are for,' Harry thought inanely as he was nearly ripped from his broom. The air was nocked completely out of him, but he was just able to hold on. The pain came moments later as he began racing towards the ground. He figured that there was at least one broken rib, as breathing had become very uncomfortable. He could hear the whistling of the bludger come back to hound him, but the timely crack of a bat showed that one of the twins was back to protecting him. Harry would have called out thanks, but he was certain in that moment that it would be a painful endeavor, so he kept his silence.

The ground came up to meet him roughly. Harry collapsed down on his back. Fred and George were tending to the rogue bludger, while the rest of the team came down to meet him. Oliver arrived first, and Harry became glad for the injury for the moment, as it was clearly the only thing keeping the exuberant team captain off of him. The teen looked fit to kiss him.

"I knew you could do it!" he shouted. "What a catch."

The girls were very concerned of course, and there was much scolding for nearly getting himself killed. All in all though, his teammates were very pleased with the results. No one could keep a grin off their faces, and the twins just clapped him on the back when the bludger was taken care of and they had landed. Harry thought this may have been a form of punishment though, as it made his chest hurt more.

As it turned out, all of the excitement was not at all good for him, and Harry soon started feeling sick from the pain. His teammates helped him to his feet, causing a fresh wave of pain to course through his chest. If Harry's grip on George's arm became painful at that point, the other boy only responded by patting Harry on the shoulder with his free hand.

A flash went off in Harry's face.

"Dammit Colin!" Harry swore, having a hard time speaking due to the pain from moving his chest, and not feeling very photogenic at the moment.

Someone got the camera-happy boy out of the way, and Harry had gotten a few steps closer to the edge of the pitch when Ron and Hermione arrived.

"Oh honestly," said Hermione, before she swish and flicked her wand to levitate Harry. So it was that she took over the job of escorting him to the infirmary, all the while lecturing him about nearly giving her a heart attack. Madam Hooch checked on him before they left the pitch, before going to officially announce the victory.

Ron followed the two of them up to the castle. He was of the opinion that it had been an amazing catch, but reiterated his sentiment from the day before of wishing that Harry would make certain to not kill himself.

Harry defended the maneuver. "I almost had the snitch scott free. Besides, who ever died from a bludger?" Ron, and surprisingly Hermione as well, began listing off names. Harry interrupted them. "Yeah, but never at Hogwarts, we don't use league standard bludgers. No one's ever even been seriously injured from one."

"That's because no one's been stupid enough to play chicken with one before!" Hermione nearly screeched.

"I wasn't playing chicken," said Harry defensively. "I was racing it to the snitch."

"You were flying directly at it," said Hermione.

"Ron, tell her I was racing it," said Harry.

Ron, not used to being the mediator looked shiftily between the two, and said, "You're both right." This earned him the ire of both arguing parties.

Madam Pomfrey, unsurprisingly, took Hermione's side when they got to the infirmary.

"No sense whatsoever!" She declared.

The celebratory mood was in full swing when they got to the tower. Harry got many claps on the back, and more than one grinning admirer told him that he was absolutely mad.

It was only as the party began winding down, that Colin came running down from his dorm clutching a photograph, which he eagerly showed to Harry.

"Seriously?" he asked slightly aghast. "Of all the pictures from the match, this is the one you choose?"

It was the picture taken at the end of the game, where Harry was being picked up with a look of pain on his face.

From the look on Colin's face, Harry thought he may as well have just kicked a puppy. Colin walked away very quickly, leaving Harry to frown in awkward guilt.

Hermione swatted him on the arm. "Honestly, Harry. You didn't have to be mean about it." She leaned in to look at the picture. "It really is a good picture, you know." and then to his incredulous look, she added. "It is!"

Fred and George were walking by then.

"I'll say it's a good picture," said Fred.

"We'll have to frame it," said George.

"And bash you in the head with it the next time you do something stupid," Fred finished.

"I get it," said Harry. "I'll stay out of trouble for at least a week this time, guys."

Many party snacks were thrown at him.

The next morning, the castle woke to grim news. Colin Creevy had been petrified.

A/N: Again, sorry for the slow update again. I've quit my job recently though, and should now have more time to write through the Summer, until I go to grad school (yay!).

Also, my beta pointed out to me that the picture that Colin took would make a great piece of fanart (hint hint). Seriously though, if any of you are artistically inclined, and are thus inspired, I would love to see the result.


	8. 07 Suspicion

Disclaimer: Would JK Rowling update a novel on a chapter-by-chapter basis? No she would not. I rest my case.

Suspicion

Professor Snape found Colin's petrified body in the hallway, not far from the Gryffindor common room. There was no message on the wall this time, simply the words 'The Heir of Slytherin' on the wall, and the word 'Mudblood' was written in the same paint on Colin's forehead. The news of his petrification spread like wild fire the next day. Everyone was concerned now that a student had been targeted as well. The looks that Harry received that day were more than casual; Harry was once more a suspect in the eyes of the student body. No one came out and said anything to him though; if he could attack a first year over a photo, who knew what he might do to an accuser. His friends at least were very supportive.

"This is all so silly, Harry. They'll all realize that, you'll see, sooner rather than later."

Ron didn't seem so sure that everything would work out, but still he said, "We're behind you, mate."

Fortunately, most of his year mates didn't seem able to credit Harry as the attacker, nor could the quidditch team. Most of the first years though, we're terrified. There were times that Harry got very tired of this, and wanted to shout 'BOO' at the nearest cowering eleven year old, but also knew that Hermione would probably yell at him.

The professors, for the most part, didn't take Harry as a suspect seriously. Certainly, none of them seemed to think it was him, but they also didn't seem to do anything about Harry being a suspect in the eyes of the student body at large. It left Harry feeling distinctly disgruntled about the lack of support.

As Hermione pointed out to him though, there wasn't much for the teachers to do. No one, other than Malfoy, was actively antagonizing him, and Malfoy made sure not to get caught. None of the other students had so much as accused him to his face on the matter. She also pointed out that the other students were hardly sure themselves that Harry was the culprit. He got all of the attention simply because he was the only suspect available. Ron was quick to agree with the sentiment, and pointed out that if Malfoy had been found at the scene of the first crime too, then no one would think to suspect Harry. Harry wasn't sure he could credit all of that. Certainly Malfoy would make a much better suspect, but he wasn't one, Harry was. And Harry could see the looks of burning suspicion and fear wherever he went. So what if no one had accused him to his face, he could see the accusation in their eyes.

Had he pointed this out to Hermione, she would likely have told him that it was all in his head, so he didn't tell her. He did tell Ron though, but he shared Hermione's likely opinion. One way or another though, the attitude of the student body left Harry feeling grumpier than normal.

On the upside, Defense Against the Dark Arts was finally an interesting class, and after Colin's petrifaction, Professor Druthers seemed more inclined to challenge them. Unfortunately, he was prone to challenging Harry more than anyone else, as though Harry were more capable for being the Boy-Who-Lived. He did find himself studying more though, and he was getting better at answering the professor's often off-topic questions, sometimes even managing to avoid the deer-caught-in-headlights look when asked advanced extra credit questions.

As annoying as the Professor could be about it, it was nice to have his subtle support. Far from seeing Harry as a suspect, the man seemed to want to make sure he knew as much Defense as he could. If he sometimes felt a little foolish being the first to try a new spell, well that was an okay price to pay.

Still, the rest of the school was not so supportive, and so it was that Harry, rather than sit in the common room and study extra Defense while people were staring at him, sought out the seclusion of the second year boy's dormitory, a couple of weeks after Colin's petrifaction.

At least, he had hoped for seclusion, none of his other year mates had come up for bed. However, there were a pair of large eyes peering out from the wardrobe across the room from the door. Harry drew his wand, fumbled it, caught it again, and pointed it firmly at the wardrobe.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

"Do not be cursing Dobby!" a short, and rather ugly creature cried as it crashed out of the wardrobe, tripping over what looked to be one of Dean's jumpers. Harry stared, mouth agape, as the purely odd creature cautiously stood, holding his hands up.

"Please, Harry Potter, sir, Dobby is here to help you."

Harry's first thought, that this was the mysterious creature from the Chamber of Secrets, was immediately dashed. This was clearly not the owner of the voice he had heard on Halloween. He lowered his wand, though suspicion remained.

"Dobby," he stated, seeking clarification. Dobby nodded eagerly. "And, er, sorry, but what exactly are you?" he asked.

"Dobby is a house elf, sir," the house elf said.

"And what exactly is a house elf?" asked Harry.

"House elves serve Wizards, Harry Potter, sir."

"Okay. Well, like all wizards, or just certain ones?"

"Dobby has a master, Harry Potter, but Dobby must not be telling Harry Potter his name."

"...Okay," said Harry after a moment. "So, why are you here, Dobby?"

"Dobby is here to warn Harry Potter, terrible things are happening at Hogwarts School."

"I know that already," said Harry. "I was just around the corner when Lockhart was petrified."

"Ah, but Harry Potter must not be around the corner, it is too dangerous."

"What?"

"Harry Potter must leave Hogwarts. Only then will he be safe."

"I can't leave Hogwarts," said Harry, aghast.

"But Harry Potter must, you must not be killed by the creature "

"Wait, Dobby, what do you know about the monster?"

"Dobby cannot be saying! Dobby cannot be betraying his master!"

"Then your master's behind all of this!" said Harry.

"Bad Dobby! Dobby must not be revealing Master's secrets." Dobby then turned right around and ran head first into the wardrobe. Falling down, he got up again and began to run back at it.

"Hey, cut that out!" said Harry in alarm, not wanting to be found over the unconscious body of a house elf. He grabbed the elf by the ratty piece of cloth that was his body's only covering. Picking Dobby up, Harry set him back down on Neville's bed.

"Would you stop doing that?" He asked quietly, but urgently. "Why are you hurting yourself?"

"House elves cannot be betraying their masters," said Dobby. "Dobby must punish himself when Dobby is bad."

Harry looked at the poor creature with pity. "Look, sit down Dobby," he said, taking a seat on Dean's bed.

The only word that could describe the look on Dobby's face was wonderment. The elf sat down promptly and said. "Harry Potter is asking Dobby to sit down across from him, as an equal?"

"Er, yeah. I guess," said Harry.

Dobby was crying now. "Dobby knew that Harry Potter was a great wizard, for he defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but never did Dobby suspect that Harry Potter was so noble and kind as to invite such a lowly house elf as Dobby to sit down."

"It's nothing, Dobby," said Harry uncomfortably. "I'm not so great anyway."

But this was the wrong thing to say, as Dobby cried out "And so humble!"

"Um, right. But how often do you have to punish yourself like that?"

"Oh, all of the time, Harry Potter. Especially now that Dobby is trying to keep Harry Potter safe. Dobby had to jump off of the manor roof when he stole the potion for you."

"Wait, potion?"

"And it will all be for nothing if Dobby does not get Harry Potter safe from Hogwarts."

"Dobby, Hogwarts is my home," said Harry exasperatedly. "I'm even a ward of the castle now," he said. "I have nowhere to go, even if I wanted to."

"Harry Potter must find someplace to go, for Harry Potter will surely be killed at Hogwarts."

"I'd become a ward of the ministry," said Harry, "I'd probably wind up with someone like Malfoy."

"Harry Potter must not become a ward of Lucius Malfoy!" Cried Dobby. "If Harry Potter must, he should run away, and not be found by anyones."

"Look, Dobby, you keep saying I'm going to be killed, but no one's been killed yet. And I haven't exactly been targeted either. Like I said, I was right around the corner when there was an attack."

"It is only a matter of time!"

"Yeah, well I'm not abandoning my friends," said Harry. "If that means I'm in danger, then so be it." He had to die anyway, he wouldn't die a coward.

"Harry Potter is too courageous," said Dobby. "You is too important to be losing."

"What makes me so special?" asked Harry in exasperation. "A scar on my head? I'm no different from anyone else here!" Oh how he wished that were true.

"But Harry Potter is special," said Dobby. "Harry Potter saved the house elves from the reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The lives of house elves was truly terrible then. Dobby will do anything to get Harry Potter to leave Hogwarts. Dobby will," he thought for a moment, "If Harry Potter leaves Hogwarts, Dobby will give Harry Potter his mail back "

"You have my mail?" asked Harry.

"And if Harry Potter is not leaving," Dobby said as though Harry had not spoken, "Dobby will enchant another Bludger to attack him."

"That was you?" asked Harry.

"Harry Potter must leave!" Dobby said firmly.

"Well Harry Potter won't bloody well leave," said Harry. "If I die, then I die, and it's my business. And you can do your worst with the bludger. Guess what, the first one was fun! I had a blast with that thing. Try two next time."

"Harry Potter must not be saying this!" cried Dobby, wringing his ears.

"Well I am saying it. My life is my own, and no one else's. If someone wants to take it from me, then _I'll_ do something about it. So thank you for your concern, but unless you have some actual information to give me about what's going on, or you want to make another game of quidditch interesting, I suggest you go back to your master and turn in your resignation."

"Dobby cannot be leaving his master until his master is presenting Dobby with clothes."

Harry regarded Dobby sadly, his anger deflated. That would explain what he was quite certain to be a pillow case on Dobby. "Well in that case, you should get back to him before you have to punish yourself. Don't worry about me."

"As long as Harry Potter is putting his friends before himself, Dobby will be doing what must be done." And with a snap of his fingers, Dobby disappeared.

Harry sat down on the bed again in a huff, not having realized that he had stood up in his anger. For all that Dobby had been unable give Harry any details, he had sure given Harry a lot to think about. He needed his friends in on this.

Harry rushed downstairs and made his way across the common room to the secluded spot where he had been sitting with Ron and Hermione.

"Hey," he said when he had their attention, "come up to the dorm real quick."

"What is it, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"You'll see," said Harry, beckoning her on as he walked back to the dorm.

When he had taken a seat on his own bed, and Ron and Hermione were on Ron's, Harry told them what had just happened.

"Weird," opined Ron.

"He set the bludger after you?" asked Hermione. "He's trying to save your life? That thing could have killed you!"

"No ones ever been killed by a Hogwarts bludger," Harry said for what felt like the hundredth time. Hermione ignored him. "What was his plan? I don't think there's a physical trauma that Madam Pomfrey can't heal short of death."

"Well I've been wondering about how I think he might have saved my life," said Harry.

"What do you mean, 'saved your life'?" asked Ron. "Wait, we're still talking about the house elf, right?"

"He said he stole a potion for me."

"What potion?" asked Ron.

"He said he stole a potion for me, and all I can think of is me being in stasis when you guys found me. What if it wasn't my magic? He was stalking me all summer, what if he gave me a potion for that?"

They all contemplated that for a moment in silence. Finally Hermione spoke.

"It's possible," she said.

"Well if I hadn't been in stasis, I could have died before Ron found me, so if he did that, then he saved my life."

"Well maybe it was something else like the bludger thing," said Ron, "he was going to try and poison you, but he mucked it up somehow."

Harry shrugged.

"Well right now, I'm more interested in who his master is," said Hermione. "If he isn't behind the attacks, then he's at least involved somehow, and needs to be questioned by the authorities."

"Hey," said Ron, "do you suppose he's Malfoy's?" asked Ron.

"Malfoy's?" asked Hermione dubiously.

"Think about it, we know how he feels about muggle borns, and he is a Slytherin."

"I don't know," said Hermione, "I mean, he is a prat and all, but I just can't see a second year doing this."

"Why not?" asked Harry, "the whole rest of the school seems to think so."

"It is not the whole rest of the school," Hermione scolded.

"But that's just it," said Ron excitedly. "You've been linked to both petrifactions already. You were there when Lockhart got it, when he'd given you a detention, and then you were annoyed with Colin right before he got it. I mean, wouldn't Malfoy just love it if you took all of the blame for this?"

"You think he's trying to frame me?"

"It makes sense!" said Ron. "And all the while he's also getting rid of muggleborns, and anyone else he doesn't like."

"Twice is coincidence," said Hermione. "I'll bet if we looked around we could find fifteen other students that Colin managed to annoy that day, and some of them probably got in trouble with Professor Lockhart too. For all we know one of them did it, or there's just no connection at all, it could be random."

"I don't know," said Ron skeptically, "coincidence?"

Harry was starting to agree. What if the feeling that people were out to get him was more than just a feeling? Could Malfoy be behind it?

"He is a slimy git," he conceded.

"Oh Harry," said Hermione, "don't you see, this is the same sort of speculating that other students have been doing to you."

"Yeah, but I haven't given them a reason to, Malfoy's evil in the first place."

"Well, he's terrible, yes, but I think 'evil' is a little premature."

"I don't," said Ron.

"Well, we don't have any evidence either way," said Harry.

"That's right," said Hermione, "let's not point any fingers until there's more evidence."

"So let's get some," said Ron.

!

Harry and his friends soon discovered that investigating someone, without letting on, was harder than it looked. Ron and Harry had tried asking Neville Longbottom, who was the first person they could think of who came from an affluent pureblood family, if he happened to know the name of the Malfoy house elf. Augusta Longbottom, however, while running in a select few of the same social circles as the Malfoy's, would have refused an invitation to Malfoy Manor had she ever received one, which Neville did not think that she had. He had no idea who their house elf was, and didn't know of any house elf named Dobby.

When Hermione heard of this line of questioning, she put her foot down and told them not to ask anyone else. They didn't want Malfoy to know they were asking about him, and they certainly didn't want Dobby's family to know that Harry had had any interaction with him. Assuming that Dobby was on their side, that would only cause trouble for him, and while Hermione was still mad at the house elf, she didn't want him to be punished or killed for betraying his master.

Fortunately, she had a different plan in mind, though Harry and Ron both thought it was a little crazy. She wanted to get a restricted potions book and make a batch of Polyjuice potion, which would, she said, let them turn into other people temporarily. Her plan was to impersonate Malfoy's friends and use his trust to get information directly from him. She just needed to get the book first. Harry and Ron both thought that the plan was rather cool, if perhaps overly complicated. For Harry, the potion itself was one more fantastical magical experience to look forward to.

The coming of the first snow in mid-November held a magic all its own though, if of an entirely different sort. Students accustomed to staying inside more as the weather turned colder now rushed out once more to have some winter fun. For the first time in a while, Harry felt as though he had a little room to breathe.

Harry was busy stockpiling snowballs when Hermione tracked him down.

"Harry James Potter," she started, just to let him know he was in trouble.

"Yes?" he asked innocently. He'd been separated from his friends during an early melee, but he'd still been having a good time.

"Have you been terrorizing the first years?" she demanded.

"Well, by 'terrorizing' you mean?" he asked leadingly.

"I mean jumping out from nowhere, shouting, and pelting them with snowballs."

"Only the ones that are terrified of me," said Harry. It had been pretty funny.

Hermione gave him a dark look, and he could sense a lecture coming.

"It was Lee Jordan's idea, and Fred and George ironed out some of the details," said Harry. "Desensitization therapy, you see. They'll get over their fear if they see I'm just a guy with snowballs. Also, it was hilarious."

The look she gave him told him that she wasn't buying his explanation, so Harry switched to a different tactic.

"If you think they misled me, we can always avenge those poor first years with a retaliatory strike. I bet you're pretty good at enchanting a whole bunch of snowballs at once."

Apparently, Hermione thought that this was a good plan. Such a good plan, in fact, that she tested it out on Harry first, before they joined forces against the evil fourth years. Somewhere along the way Ron got taken as a human shield by his brothers, and Harry, apologizing, had to explain the concept of collateral damages to him.

!

"I'm worried about Harry," Hermione told Ron as they sat together in the common room. It was one of those evenings where nearly everyone was busy with activities across the castle, and a couple of second years could grab one of the good seats by the fire. Ron was finishing up an assignment last minute before Monday, and Hermione was keeping him company while Harry was at a practice.

"Hermione, you've been worried about Harry nonstop since the end of last year. What else is new?"

Hermione huffed in exasperation. "We'll I'm more worried now."

"Is this about earlier today?" asked Ron.

"Of course it's about today," said Hermione. "It's the absolute end! He could have drowned, or frozen to death."

"Look, said Ron, "I recon it's like he said, he was lost in his thoughts, and didn't notice how close to the edge he was."

"Of course he noticed, he must have passed ten signs: 'Danger! An icy death lies ahead."

"Well you know how he's been lately. Who knows what's going on in his head, but he hardly knows what's going on around him."

"He's just learned to ice skate, said Hermione. "If he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing, he would have fallen flat on his face."

"More like his arse," said Ron. "He must have fallen on that at least five times."

With the turning of the season, and the edges of the lake already beginning to frost over every night, Professor Dumbledore had frozen over a small section of it. That Saturday morning, the students awoke to find an ice skating rink set up. For much of the day, Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, and a couple of prefects took turns transfiguring shoes into ice skates. Harry was reticent at first, having never before been on ice, but Ron and Hermione had gotten him out and shown him how to move about. In short order, Harry was moving under his own power. Hermione had been sure to point out the dangers of the thin ice.

"Oh be serious, Ron," said Hermione.

"Well what are you trying to say? That he wants to have a terrible accident?"

"You saw the quidditch game," said Hermione.

"Well, yeah, but that's quidditch," said Ron.

"Oh, don't give me that," said Hermione.

"Well it is," said Ron. "I'm not saying it wasn't stupid, but people do stupid things for quidditch. Harry's not the first, and he won't be the last."

"He played chicken with a bludger," said Hermione.

"Yeah," said Ron, "he didn't just run into it, he tried to avoid it. Things just didn't work out quite right."

"So you don't think I should be worried," said Hermione. "You think it's all in my head."

"Yeah," said Ron.

Hermione shot him a dark look.

"I mean no!" said Ron quickly. "I mean, obviously we should be worried about him. He's not been himself. You're just taking it further than you need to."

"Well I still think we should be keeping a better eye on him, at least until all this attention dies down from the Chamber of Secrets."

"I guess," Ron agreed. "I almost wish someone else would be petrified, so people would start looking at other suspects."

"Be careful what you wish for," said Hermione.

"Any luck getting that permission slip?" asked Ron.

"No," said Hermione. "Professor Mcgonagall doesn't think I have a good reason to check it out, and Professor Sprout told me to ask Professor Snape. And I just can't think of a reason to ask Professor Flitwick."

"What about Professor Druthers?" asked Ron. "You could say you were interested in doing a defense project."

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't think he'd be such a good idea."

"Why not?" asked Ron.

"I don't think Harry's noticed," said Hermione, "not really. But the Professor suspects Harry; he'd think I was getting the book for Harry."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" asked Ron.

"It's little things," said Hermione. "The way he looks at Harry, the way he asks questions in class. It's like he's trying to trick Harry into revealing that he knows more about the Dark Arts than he should."

"Really?" asked Ron. "'Cause I never noticed anything like that."

"Good," said Hermione, "because if the rest of the school realized that the Defense Professor suspected him, it would only make things worse."

"Alright, so he's out," said Ron. "Who else can we ask?"

"I don't think there's another Professor I could have a reason to go to," said Hermione.

"Hm," Ron mused, "and if you just started to ask everyone, then word would get around that we really want the book."

"I think we're just going to have to rethink this," said Hermione.

"Well how else can we get Malfoy to confess if we can't turn into his friends?"

"Maybe it's for the best," said Hermione, "I mean, when it comes down to it, Malfoy isn't that much better a suspect than Harry is."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Ron heatedly.

"Nothing about Harry," said Hermione exasperatedly. "Just that any twelve year old would make a bad suspect."

"Not when that twelve year old has a father like Lucius Malfoy," said Ron agitatedly. "We've been over all of this."

"I know, but it's all just starting to sound a little silly now," said Hermione.

"Oh, so now I'm silly, am I?"

"That's not what I said," said Hermione, "but if that's how you want to take it, then I may as well have."

"You just think it's silly, because you can't think of how to get any dirt on him," said Ron.

"I'd like to see you do better," said Hermione.

"We could always jinx him until he talks," said Ron.

Hermione stared at him nonplussed.

Ron cracked a grin. "You know you want to," he said.

"Yes, well, how much I may or may not want to jinx Malfoy, I think we both know that that's not an option."

"Doesn't mean I can't dream about it."

"Well dream up another plan first," said Hermione.

!

Down on the quidditch pitch, Harry was unaware of his best friends' fantasizing, though he likely would have wanted to join in had he known. As it was, he was spinning in a tight corkscrew down towards the Earth. It was a move without much value to a seeker, but it was fun as hell.

A shrill whistle resounded from down below. It was the kind of fingers-in-the-mouth whistle that Harry had yet to master, and when he pulled out of his spin to see who wanted his attention, he affirmed to ask the twins for some pointers on it later.

Whichever twin it was, his presence likely meant that the rest of the team had arrived for practice, and Wood wanted them down in the changing rooms. Harry quickly flew down to the twin, George, he thought.

"So Wood wants to go over tactics for the third time this week?" Harry asked when he dismounted.

"Him, and someone else wants to talk to us," said probably-George.

"Madam Hooch?" Harry asked.

"You'll see."

Harry shrugged and went on to see who else wanted to talk to the team. He had an inkling of who it would be, and if he was right, it wouldn't be about anything good.

He was right, it was Professor McGonagall, and she wasn't smiling.

"Mr. Potter," she said with a withering glance as Harry walked into the unisex area of the changing rooms, where Wood usually gave his lectures, "here we are again."

"Again?" asked Harry, though he knew what this was about.

"When you were told that you needed to take more care with the maneuvers you perform during practice, did it not occur to you that this also applied when you were flying on your own during your free time?"

Harry licked his lips a little nervously. "Well, in retrospect-" he began, but he promptly shut up when Professor McGonogalls' lips thinned.

"Perhaps I should have been more explicit then," she said. Harry didn't reply, and she went on. "But, since all of the fault cannot be laid at my feet, Mr. Potter, I will still be giving you a detention tomorrow night. And now that you have been explicitly told what you may and may not do, and when you may or may not do it, you can rest assured that you will lose all flying privileges should you behave recklessly on a broom again."

Harry grimaced, but nodded to show that he understood. They had had this conversation before, after all, and only a couple of weeks ago. She had spotted him diving very close to the ground in a very unsafe position, nearly falling off his broom, and had come down to the pitch to lecture him and Oliver about quidditch safety. She had specifically said practices though, and though he knew that it was the same thing really, he had taken to flying on his own before practice. He wasn't sure what it was specifically that she had seen him doing, but supposed that that in and of itself spoke to the problem.

"Can you perhaps tell me why it is that you are so insistent on breaking your neck?" his professor asked.

What was there to say? That he wanted to have as much fun as he could before he died prematurely? That flying like a loon made him feel more alive and carefree than anything else he could think of? Or that when the blood was rushing to two different parts of his body at once, he could no longer feel the eyes of the student body on the back of his neck? He didn't know how to say any of those things, and he wasn't suicidal enough to just say that he got a kick out of it, so he simply shrugged.

"Well," said Professor McGonagall, "perhaps you will think of a reason why during your detention tomorrow night. In the meantime, I'm sure you'll be able to keep your nose clean for at least one night."

"He better," piped up Wood, "or he'll have us to deal with." His tune had certainly changed when the Professor had threatened to take away his star seeker, but the rest of the team too were giving him dirty looks as well that said that he better stay in line. As Professor McGonagall stalked out of the changing rooms, Harry couldn't help but wonder if his team would still believe he was innocent if he weren't their seeker anymore.

!

"Are you sure you don't want us to walk down with you?" asked Hermione.

"Of course I'm sure," said Harry. "I don't need body guards."

"No, but you could do with witnesses," she said.

"I thought you said that I wasn't that big of a suspect," said Harry after a moment.

"You're not," said Ron, "but next time something happens, wouldn't you rather have someone there to say you weren't there?"

Harry grumbled, but it made sense. "Alright," he said, "come on then. "But you do know that you can't stay with me during the detention, right?"

"Of course not," said Hermione, though Ron got a contemplative look on his face.

"We could stay there under your invisibility cloak," he said.

"Don't even think of it," said Harry. "Now come on, I've got to get going."

Ron gave a mournful look at the food left on his dinner plate, but as he was insisting on coming, Harry refused to feel bad about tearing him from his dinner.

"What do you think she'll have you doing?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know," said Harry. "She usually does interesting ones, but for me she might just make an exception."

"It would serve you right, flying like a daredevil," she said. "You could do with keeping your feet on the ground."

Harry gave her a dirty look. "Maybe I wouldn't fly like a 'daredevil' if things were a little more interesting around here," he said.

"Mate, if things were any more interesting around here, the aurors would have to invade the castle."

Harry smiled, he couldn't deny that Ron had him on that point.

"Okay, maybe something interesting that doesn't involve people other than Lockhart getting petrified."

Ron chortled while Hermione smacked Harry on the shoulder.

"How can you say that?" she asked. "The poor professor, missing a whole year."

"Well if he'd been a decent professor," said Ron, "then maybe he wouldn't have been petrified in the first place."

Already on thin ice, Harry knew better than to chime in with his agreement, though agree he did. Lockhart had been useless. Though the new guy was annoying at times, he was at least a decent Professor.

They found Justin waiting outside the transfiguration classroom door.

"You have a detention too?" asked Ron.

"Er, yeah," said Justin, giving Harry a nervous glance. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and stared at the wall behind the boy.

"What are you in trouble for?" asked Hermione, apparently trying to make civil conversation.

Justin shrugged. "She caught me trying to turn water into Glen Garioch."

"What's that?" asked Ron.

"That's the good stuff," said Justin.

"Alcohol?" asked Hermione, slightly scandalized.

"Bourbon whiskey," Justin specified. "My dad let me have a sip once at a party. It tasted like nothing you've ever had."

"Well I should hope so," said Hermione.

"I as well, Mr. Fletchley," said Professor McGonagall, coming from around the corner. "Let us hope that we don't have a repeat of the incident."

"No ma'am," said Justin.

"Good," said Professor McGonagall. She glanced at Ron and Hermione. "I do hope that the two of you are not planning to keep Mr. Potter company."

"No, Professor," said Hermione. "We were just leaving."

Harry and Justin followed the Professor into the classroom. Harry took the seat nearest to the door, but Justin walked past him to the other side of the classroom.

"Well," said Professor McGonagall. "You both know why you are here, so I won't be giving any more lectures. I want you to spend your time transfiguring these wooden blocks into whatever variety of simple objects you feel like, please do not make any of them the same."

Justin and Harry boggled.

"That's at least a hundred each," said Justin.

"We learned how to do that last year," said Harry.

"Only the menial labor is for your edification," said Professor McGonagall, "I need the transfigured objects for my fourth years. And to be specific, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, it is one-hundred and twenty-five each. I will be in my office, let me know when you are finished, and I will let you return to your dormitories."

Harry sighed. She definitely wasn't going to let him do anything interesting. He was also pretty sure she didn't need them to all be different, that was probably just for the detention too. He got up from his seat and took one of the boxes of blocks from the Professor's desk. Returning, he took a seat in the middle of the classroom. He told himself that it was because it was the closest seat to him, but were he being honest with himself, he would admit to wanting to bother Justin. The glare he got from the boy as he made his way back to his desk told him that it had worked.

The box was actually two boxes nested, and Harry separated them, putting them on either side of himself so he would have something to put the finished blocks into. He pondered on the first block, before settling on simply turning it to iron. He dropped the now heavy block into the empty box and pulled out another block. A couple of tries later, and a rubber ball bounced down into the emptier box. A plastic globe followed it, with rough outlines of the continents.

The two of them ignored each other as they worked. The only speaking was the various incantations the boys used on their blocks. Somewhere around block eighty though, Harry started running out of ideas. Around block ninety, he sighed and grudgingly turned to Justin.

"You got any ideas for these?" he asked.

Justin stilled in his seat in the back corner of the classroom, (the better to see him, Harry thought). Justin didn't say anything though, and went back to transfiguring his blocks. Harry scowled and rolled his eyes as he turned back to his work. With a sudden bit of inspiration, Harry turned his block into a clay eye. A tad morbid, but Harry had ample excuse. Turning ten of his blocks into various body parts was a little creepy, but Harry didn't care.

Somewhere around block one-hundred and ten, judging by the blocks left in the first box, Justin finally spoke up.

"So is it all muggleborns you don't like, or just most of us? It's just that you're friends with Granger."

Harry stiffened, but as Justin had ignored him earlier, he went back to his work. Perhaps Freud could have made something of the stone knife he transfigured next, but Harry just threw it into the box. A pin cushion and a glass globe later, he turned around angrily.

"That's rubbish, you know?" he demanded. "There's no evidence against me. The teachers don't think I did it. Professor Dumbledore said I couldn't. But you just go ahead and treat me like I'm guilty anyway."

"Well let's look at the facts then," said Justin. "Lockhart gives you a detention, and then you're found standing over his body. Creevey ticks you off, and he's petrified not twelve hours later."

"How petty do you think I am?" asked Harry.

"I'd think it was just pettiness too," said Justin, "but then you go signing yourself as the Heir of Slytherin, and writing 'mudblood', and that changes things. Everyone knew that Creevey was a muggleborn, and apparently Malfoy was spreading a rumor that Lockhart was a muggleborn. So you tell me, should I be worried that I let slip that I'd been planning on going to a muggle school before I got my letter?"

"Who the hell listens to Malfoy? First of all, Collin's still a muggleborn, because he's not dead, you twit, and I don't know anything about Lockhart being muggleborn, because who the hell listens to Malfoy?"

"Says you," said Justin. "Like you don't argue with him five times a week anyway.

"Yeah, says me," said Harry.

"Then there's the thing with your muggle relatives," said Justin.

"Shut up," said Harry, his stomach felt as though the iron block had settled into it.

"Did they hurt you? Is that why you're a ward of the castle now? Is that why you hate muggleborns?"

"I said shut up!" Harry roared, standing up. "You don't know what you're talking about, so SHUT! UP!"

"But it makes sense, doesn't it?" said Justin. "Last year you were the Gryffindor golden boy, and now you're not with your relatives anymore, and all of this is happening."

"I said-"

"Just admit that you hate them," Justin interrupted angrily. "Is that so hard? You wrote it on Colin's forehead for everyone to see. Just admit it!"

"I don't hate muggles because my uncle put me in a coma," Harry shouted, "I hate my uncle! And I don't blame muggles because my aunt let him stuff me in my cupboard to die, I blame her! And if you're so sure that I'm attacking every muggleborn who crosses me, then why are you-"

"Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall's scandalized voice rang out from behind him. Harry stilled in shock, and found that he was having a hard time taking control of his breathing. Across from him, Justin was white in the face, and seemed equally lost for words. Harry scrubbed at his face before turning back around to his desk. When had he moved so far from it? He couldn't remember. He tried to take his seat again, but Professor McGonagall held up her hand to forestal him.

"That isn't necessary, Mr. Potter. You may consider yourself finished. Go on to the Common Room."

Harry nodded woodenly, and picked up his wand and his bag.

"Not you, Mr. Finch-Fletchley," he heard Professor McGonagall say as he moved to the door.

Once outside, Harry broke out into a run. He didn't know where he was going, nor did he care. An incalculable amount of time later, Harry found himself outside, under the cold December sky. He was back atop the astronomy tower. His breath puffed away from him in turbulent clouds. Angry and frustrated, Harry kicked the crenulations in front of him. In pain now, Harry hopped about a couple of times, screamed at the sky, and slumped down against the wall, his hands finding fistfuls of hair to hold on to.

Harry closed his eyes as he tried to bring his breathing under control. None of this was fair. Why did everything have to be so hard?

Harry didn't know how long he stayed up on the tower, but the cold seemed to be seeping into his very bones by the time he thought to get up and go back to the common room. The cold had done nothing to cool his temper at Justin though, and it seemed his mood was immediately evident to his friends when he came in through the portrait-hole.

"What happened mate?" asked Ron, as he and Hermione came to greet him.

Harry stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. He finally settled on. "Justin's a bastard, that's what happened." With that, he stormed through the common room, and up to his dorm.

Harry threw himself onto his bed and laid there for a few minutes before remembering that he was still wearing all his clothes. He wrestled with them for a while, before throwing them through his curtains. He turned over, no longer caring about the cold, and stared at the ceiling for most of the night.

!

Harry's anger had evaporated by morning, and it left him feeling empty. He didn't want to get up for breakfast, but Ron kept poking at him until he got out of bed. He went through his morning routine mechanically, all the time reliving his outbursts from the night before. Why had he said those things? Had Justin told anyone? Of course he had, he would only see it as further evidence against Harry. Walking down the stairs, Harry felt as though he were walking to his own execution. How long would it take for word to spread to the entire school?

Harry was the last second year to get down to the common room, where Hermione and Ron were waiting for him. They both smiled supportively at him, and Harry could tell that they had been talking about him. He ignored it. He said his good mornings and they left for breakfast.

The whole way down, Harry was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Malfoy would be the first to say something to his face, he was sure, it was only a matter of time. It happened sooner than he would have thought, but it wasn't Malfoy.

"Mr. Potter, I need to speak with you before breakfast."

Harry looked between Ron and Hermione, and the back at Professor McGonagall's unfathomable visage.

"Alright," he said. "See you at breakfast," he told his friends.

The professor bade him to follow her, and he trailed behind her, wondering just what form this conversation would take. Was she going to scold him? Or was she perhaps going to pour tea down his throat and tell him that everything would be alright? She had seemed rather sympathetic the night before; she had even let him leave early.

They wound up in her office, and Harry found himself seated across from her as she studied him silently. Finally she spoke.

"Have some tea," she said as she summoned a cup of the liquid and proffered it to him.

Harry sighed and accepted the cup. It was strange, for some unfathomable reason, a part of him had been hoping for the other scenario. Professor McGonagall kept staring at him, and Harry took a sip of tea to break the stalemate.

"Harry," she finally, said, and Harry was instantly put on alert by the use of his first name, "I had been planning to speak to you this morning about what happened with you and Justin last night. I know that these recent weeks have been difficult for you. But now I need to know if you went straight to the common room last night."

What little color that remained drained from Harry's face. In a rather small voice, he finally said, "Justin never got back to Hufflepuff last night, did he?"

"No," said Professor McGonagall, "he did not."

"Is he okay?" asked Harry.

"He has been petrified," said Professor McGonagall, "and he will recover with the others."

"I went to the astronomy tower, before I went back."

"What were you doing up there?" she asked.

Harry shrugged, not quite knowing himself. "It was cold," he said, as though it made sense.

Professor McGonagall sighed. "Did anyone see you up there?"

Harry shook his head. He had no idea when he had gotten back either, but Ron and Hermione would probably be able to tell. He felt like laughing, but that couldn't be right. There was nothing funny. He took a deep breath, and said in a rush. "Everyone in Gryffindor knows we had a row."

"I see," said Professor McGonagall after a moment.

"Now, everyone will know, and they'll say that I did it because I was angry at him, and he's a muggleborn."

"Most likely, yes," said Professor McGonagall.

"Why is this happening?" asked Harry. "Why are they being petrified, why is it always me? I just want to be left alone. Why can't I just get to deal with one thing at a time?"

"It's not fair," said Professor McGonagall for him.

"That's right," said Harry, "it's not. Why do I have to be the foster kid, and the suspect, and... and..." he trailed off and let his breath huff out through his nose, not knowing how to finish the sentence without saying more than he wanted to. Being a horcrux, wouldn't it be fair for him to get a little peace?

"It may not seem like it now, Harry, but things will work out in the end. It is difficult now, and it may not seem like it will get better, but it will. Whoever is doing this will slip up eventually, and everyone who suspected you will feel very foolish. In the meantime, you just have to keep your head up, and go to class."

"I guess I can do that," said Harry eventually.

"Good," she said. "Now finish your tea, and I'll walk you to breakfast."

Harry wasn't sure it was a good idea to be seen being escorted by a professor, but she insisted. When they got to the Great Hall, she stopped him before they could part ways. She put a hand on his head, trying to smooth down the hair that Harry hadn't even tried to tame earlier, before putting her hands on his shoulders.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Potter," she said. "I'll see you in class later."

Harry watched her make her way up to the head table, and wondered that perhaps she did know what she was on about.

A/N: So it's been a while since my last update. Sorry about that, things have been topsy-turvy for a while. In a good way though, so that's fine. I've been to Alaska and Vegas, both fun places in their own ways. Also, I jumped out of an airplane, an activity I highly recommend.

As always, please feed the beast! Read and review.


	9. 08 Pin Pricks

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does.

Pin Pricks

The coming of winter holidays was a relief to Harry. He had thought things were bad after Colin was petrified, but the level of hostility in the castle had risen significantly since the attack on Justin. Enough so that Professor Dumbledore was forced to speak to the student body at dinner one day, saying again that no students were suspected, and that proper conduct towards their fellow students was expected out of all of them. This didn't stop the glares that Harry received in the hallway, or the conversations that suddenly fell silent when he walked into a room. Nor did it put an end to the jinxes that Harry often found aimed at his back.

Harry had been exposed to more jinxes than he knew existed. Fortunately, a lot of students seemed to have bad aim, but he had still been struck by spells that caused tentacles to sprout from his face, or for his feet to jerk around like he was tap-dancing. Hermione was very useful to have in such situations, as she was very good at reversing the effects. Still, Harry had been forced to take a couple of trips to the hospital wing when Hermione had been out of her league.

Still, no one had the courage to confront Harry to his face, and life in Gryffindor remained tolerable, thanks in large part to the support of his friends and the quidditch team. His dorm mates also remained skeptical of the accusations against Harry, having lived too closely with him over the past year and a half to credit them. Still, Harry estimated that at least a third of the Gryffindors suspected him, and enough were convinced of his guilt enough to keep him on his guard down in the common room.

And so, when nearly the entire student body left the castle for the holiday, Harry felt as though he finally had enough room to breath. He had taken once again to wandering the castle alone, though Ron didn't approve. Nor would Hermione have, had she stayed at school. She had offered to stay for the break, but Harry had told her not to on his behalf. All of the Weasley's had stayed behind though, and with Harry, they were the only occupants of Gryffindor tower. Hufflepuff was completely vacant, Ravenclaw had a dozen students remaining, and only Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle stayed in Slytherin.

Harry was particularly glad to have the Weasley twins around. They were the only ones who were able to make light of the entire situation; the thought of Harry as the Heir of Slytherin so hilarious to them apparently, that they made a great joke of it. They would pronounce his dark presence in the hallways, telling others to make way. Harry would follow in their wake sometimes, trying not to smile too much at their antics. With the castle empty, they had taken to abducting Harry from his walks to take him to play in the snow with their siblings.

Today wasn't a day for play though, and Harry had put his invisibility cloak on to keep from being disturbed. He had had a marvelous idea over breakfast as he watched Malfoy and his goons walk away after their meal, and now he stood outside of the Great Hall, invisible and waiting, through lunch. The plan was brilliant in it's simplicity, he thought. Why go through the trouble of getting polyjuice, when he had such an easy way to go about undetected?

Harry's stomach rumbled hungrily, but Harry had to ignore it, he was where he needed to be, and it wasn't as though he had never missed a meal before. Finally, his targets left the Great Hall, and Harry followed behind Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle down into the dungeons, listening to them talk about the presents they expected to receive for Christmas. The way to their common room seemed quite a ways away with much descent, and Harry wondered just how much earth lay over their heads when they finally came to a stop in front of an indistinct patch of wall.

"Pure-blood," said Malfoy imperiously, and the wall opened up into an entryway. Harry followed them, silently gagging at the audacity of the Slytherin password. When he saw the common room, Harry figured that he shouldn't have been so surprised by how different it was from Gryffindor, but he was. It was the windows that caught his eyes first, they actually looked out into the lake; Harry could see plants waving in subtle currents as fish swam by. Of course the color scheme was all green with silver accents thrown in against the rough stone walls. What Harry noticed most was that there was only one large fireplace, which had maybe a dozen high backed chairs arranged around it.

It was to one of these chairs that Draco immediately headed, and his friends followed. Harry imagined that when all of Slytherin was in the castle, those chairs would have been reserved for the older Slytherins. He smiled, picturing Malfoy as an interloper, pretending at status.

For a mission concerning the Heir of Slytherin, Harry soon found things to be dull and mundane between the three boys he was spying on. They continued on talking about presents for a while, before Crabbe pulled out a deck of exploding snap cards. They spent what Harry felt to be an obscene amount of time playing the game, Malfoy soundly trouncing the other two. He could almost think that they were doing it just to annoy him.

Harry lost track of how long they were down there, the lake view being of no help in determining time, but he knew that he was sorely hungry by now. It was amazing how a year plus of proper meals could soften you up. Finally though, Harry saw his opportunity to make his move, when Malfoy went to get another deck from their room. He had practiced this bit, before lunch time, and he thought he could pull it off. With Malfoy's back turned, and Crabbe and Goyle not looking at each other and not too close, Harry poked his head between the two beefy Slytherins.

"Wish I knew where the chamber was," he said dully but quickly, in what he thought to be a good impression of the two boys, if their voices were meshed together. They didn't sound so very different in the first place.

The two boys looked at each other quizzically, and Harry felt a moment of apprehension, but they both looked over to Malfoy as he turned and spoke.

"Of course you do," he said, and there was a moment when he laid eyes on his friends, and clearly couldn't tell who had spoken. He pushed on anyway. "We're all Slytherins, whoever's doing this is going to have their name go down in history."

Crabbe and Goyle both stared dumbly at Malfoy for a moment, before Goyle finally realized that Malfoy expected the conversation to continue.

"Any idea who it is?" he asked, and Harry waited with baited breath.

"No," said Malfoy bitterly. Harry released a quiet breath. Of course it wasn't so simple; Hermione had been right all along. Malfoy was a terrible suspect. "I can't believe that he hasn't let me help. I mean, who better to help the heir of Slytherin than a Malfoy?" Harry wanted to gag.

"What do you think he'll do next?" asked Goyle.

Draco scowled. "I hope he gets that mudblood Granger," he said. Harry felt his fists clench. "For a bonus, maybe people would stop thinking Pitiful Potter was somehow the heir." Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy had seemed to take it as an affront that people thought Harry was the Heir of Slytherin.

"Maybe he'll get Potter next," said Crabbe.

"Maybe," said Malfoy with a shrug, as though he didn't think it likely. "Although, Potter wouldn't be the first half-blood he went after."

"Who was the first?" asked Goyle in surprise.

"Lockhart, of course," said Malfoy.

"I thought you said he was a muggleborn," said Goyle.

"No, I said he might as well have been," said Malfoy. "You should remember, since you were there. It's was only after the attack on Creevey that people said I said he was a muggleborn. Which doesn't make sense, since everyone knows his mother was a blood-traitor Tripe."

Crabbe and Goyle clearly hadn't known that, but they stayed silent on the subject. Harry on the other hand didn't know what to do with the information. It was just what Justin had said, about Malfoy spreading rumors about Lockhart, but that had apparently been made up, the truth distorted from a disparaging comment Malfoy had made about an incompetent teacher who knows when. How desperate were the students to pin everything on Harry, that they were imagining new evidence against him?

"Anyway," said Malfoy, "if we're really lucky, the heir will do Potter in for good. My father told me a mudblood died fifty years ago, last time the Chamber opened."

Harry made a rude gesture at Malfoy under the cloak, even as he mentally stored the information for later. If the heir did wind up killing him, Harry hoped he'd petrify this ponce first, so Harry could have a good laugh.

The conversation devolved into more Harry bashing, and Harry grumpily found a corner to sit in while waiting for the other boys to leave the common room, so that he could follow. He didn't want them to notice the common room door opening and closing on it's own, after all. He could tell that it would be simple enough to leave on his own though; on this side of the wall, the entrance appeared to be a simple door.

Harry's stomach rumbled again, and he began wondering if Malfoy had any food hidden away in his room. Searching Malfoy's room had been Harry's backup plan for if he hadn't been able to get the other boy to talk about the Chamber. He got up to cross the room when his stomach rumbled again, more loudly than before. Harry stilled and glared down at the offending part of his body. He looked up to see if anyone had heard, and saw that his luck had run out, for Malfoy was perked up and silent, obviously looking for the source of the sound.

"Did you hear anything?" he asked Crabbe and Goyle.

"I didn't hear anything," said Crabbe.

"I think I did," said Goyle, and Harry silently cursed his luck.

"It sounded like gurgling," said Malfoy.

"Could be plumbing," said Goyle.

"Have you ever heard the plumbing from the common room before?" asked Malfoy scathingly.

"No," said Goyle.

Harry's stomach rumbled again, and he began creeping towards the door.

"That sounds like a person," said Malfoy, "and it wasn't one of us. It's coming from over there." He pointed not too far away from where Harry was hiding.

Harry pulled a bag from his pocket, it held some diversions he had acquired from the twins. As much as he wanted to use them though, he knew that he shouldn't unless he absolutely had to. It would be best if Malfoy never knew that he had been there.

Suddenly though, there was another rumbling, and this time it wasn't from Harry.

"Sorry," Crabbe said, "I'm ready for dinner."

Harry stared at him, mouth agape. He couldn't actually think that the other two rumbles were from him, could he?

Apparently he could though, for soon Malfoy was berating the boy for his never full stomach. Soon enough though, they had decided it was time to go to dinner, and Harry was finally able to leave behind them. He was sorely tempted to pull something from the bag, a dung bomb, perhaps, as revenge, but now wasn't the right time. Still, he wondered how much the twins would like to know the password to the Slytherin Common Room.

Ron wasn't very happy with Harry when he told him about his escapade at dinner. Percy was sitting away, studying through the meal, and the twins were entertaining Ginny a little ways down.

"Look, it was a good plan, alright? But why didn't you take me along, or tell me first? What if something had happened?"

Harry found that he didn't have a good response to that. "Well, the cloak's only for one person, and..." He trailed off lamely.

"You, me and Hermione could fit under there," said Ron, "we've done it before, and I notice you haven't got a reason for not telling me."

Harry shrugged. "You might have tried to talk me out of it."

"I don't think I would have," said Ron. "But we won't find out, will we?"

Harry shrugged again.

"Would you just tell me what's going on with you."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"I think you know what I mean," said Ron.

"I don't," said Harry mulishly, though of course he did. How could he not?

"Look, I get it," said Ron, "stuff's been bad for you lately." Harry inclined his head in agreement. "But still, it feels like there's something you're not telling us."

'I need to die to kill Voldemort,' Harry thought. He almost wished Ron was a mind reader. How did you say something like that out loud?

"Things aren't bad enough?" he asked Ron.

"They're plenty bad," said Ron, "but I still think there's something you're not telling us, something big. Something that happened when you faced Quirrell last year."

"Hm," said Harry. He shrugged. "I told you guys what happened."

"Everything?" asked Ron. "I mean, what, do you feel that bad that the guy died?"

Did he? Harry wasn't sure, but it certainly didn't keep him up at night.

"Voldemort killed Quirrel, not me," said Harry, and Ron flinched at the name. "It's Quirrel's own fault he died in the first place."

"Okay," said Ron.

Harry looked up at Ron and felt guilty. His friend looked so worried about him, and here he was being a terrible friend.

"Voldemort didn't care about killing my parents that night," he finally blurted out, feeling like he had to say something. "I don't know why, but he wanted me in the first place."

Ron blinked in surprise. "Why would he come after a baby? I mean they say he was insane, but still."

Harry shrugged, somehow now feeling more guilty. He had told the truth, but lied all the same to his friend.

"But you don't feel responsible for what happened, do you?" asked Ron. "I mean, just because You-Know-Who's a nutter, doesn't mean it's your fault."

"Well sure," said Harry, starting to get into this new line of dialogue, "It's still all a mess though. So what if it wasn't my fault? They might still be alive if they'd never had me."

"Maybe not," said Ron. "They were his enemies, right, maybe going after you was just a way to get at them without killing them, but then things went wrong."

Harry shrugged. He didn't have any answers. Harry set his jaw with sudden determination.

"Ron, I want you to promise me something," he said.

"Um, sure, what?" asked Ron.

"Promise that you'll never die for me."

"What?" asked Ron, looking flustered.

"My parents died for me, my relatives are in jail for me, and people are being petrified to frame me. Don't you see how messed up that is? I'm not worth all that, so please, promise that if it ever comes down to it, you won't die like my parents did."

Ron stared at him for a moment, his mouth agape. "Harry I can't..."

"Please," said Harry.

"Look," said Ron, "um, I've got some laundr- I mean, some presents to wrap before Christmas." He got up. "It really needs to be done tonight, before everyone's back up at the Common Room. You won't come into the dorm for a bit, will you? See you later."

He left the Great Hall at record speed.

"Ron!" Harry called after him, but to no avail.

"Lover's quarrel?" asked one of the twins, who sidled down the bench to sit next to Harry.

"Huh?" asked Harry.

"What my subtle twin is implying," said the other twin, now across the table from Harry, "is that you and our younger brother were having an argument based on a relationship of-"

"I get it, thanks," said Harry, standing up. He certainly didn't feel up to dealing with the twin's antics. "See you guys later." He stalked off, angry, though he did not know who at. How could he be angry at Ron for not wanting to promise to turn his back on Harry? Or at the twins, who's humor helped to keep him sane. He could be angry at himself of course, but he felt entirely justified in wanting to protect Ron. It wouldn't make sense for Ron to die for a Horcrux. Dying for Harry meant dying to keep Voldemort alive. If there were such a thing as karma, then that might explain why everything bad happened to Harry, the cosmic scales were already tipped against him for the sacrifices of others.

Eventually, Harry found himself once more atop the astronomy tower. He frequented the spot a lot these days. He liked the cold, the wind, and the view. Even in the dark, he could see all the stars, the lights on in other parts of the castle, the moon's reflection on the lake. It was the one peaceful place that Harry had left. He suspected that he would be climbing the tower's steps a lot more often come the return of the rest of the student body.

Harry stepped forward and rested his forearms on top of the nearest crenulation, looking out at the grounds. He wasn't ready to die yet, but if he was going to keep going, he needed to be a better friend to Ron and Hermione, otherwise what was the point? But one thing was certain, if it came down to something bad happening to either Harry or one of his friends, Harry would have to make sure things worked out right himself.

!

Petunia stood in the corner, far from the fireplace. Her hands fidgeted while she waited. She had followed the blasted man's instructions, though it had galled her to. Now it was time to see if he would follow through on his promises.

She could still remember the day that the police had burst into their house, the day that their lives had been turned upside down once more because of that wretched boy. How she wished that she had never had a sister.

Of a sudden, the fireplace flared up, and from it a bulky form spun out. Finally, she could lay her eyes upon him. His eyes frantic and wide, they finally settled on her. Her son was there to visit her on Christmas Eve.

!

Christmas day dawned bright and clear over a snowy white campus. Harry woke up before Ron, as usual, and took a moment to look out the window next to his bed. Smoke was rising up from Hagrid's hut, and the man himself was clearing snow away from his Vegetable patch.

Harry looked away towards Ron, who was still sleeping soundly. He turned back to his own bed, and grinned at the pile of presents waiting for him. He debated waking Ron, but decided to let him sleep. He gathered up his shower things, and started towards the bathroom. As he got to the bathroom door though, he stopped in his tracks.

"Aw, to heck with it," he said, and let his things drop to the floor, as he ran over to jump onto Ron's bed.

"Oy, presents!" he said loudly.

"Wassit?!" Ron came to with a start.

"We have presents," shouted Harry. "No time to lay about."

Ron's pillow made violent contact with Harry's face, and Harry found that while there may not be time for sleep, there was ample time for a pillow fight.

A good pillow died in combat. ("My pillow! You're going to pay for that one!)

It all devolved into a wrestling match. ("Bob's _not_ my uncle!")

Harry was trounced, but at least now he got to open his presents.

"Ooh, fudge!" Harry exclaimed, as he opened a tin from Hagrid. "And it doesn't look like he made it himself."

"Hope you're sharing," said Ron.

"Only if you're sharing that pie," said Harry. Ron's brother Charlie had sent him a chocolate pie from the dragon reserve in Romania.

"Oh, this is nice, I guess," said Harry. Someone had sent him a small collection of wizarding novels. "Oh hey, it's from Professor McGonagall."

"That must be because she's looking after you now."

Harry nodded. He'd have to say thank you next time he saw her.

"Harry, you didn't!" Harry looked over at Ron, who was holding up Harry's present to him.

"Do you like them?" asked Harry nervously.

"Like them? I love them! I've never gotten a present so nice."

Harry grinned. "You deserve them," he said. "I mean, Ron, you saved me. If anyone deserves those, it's you."

Ron blushed to the roots of his hair. "How many are there?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Twenty," said Harry. "So you know, you could take a bunch of people to one game, or..."

"I could go to every game this Summer," said Ron.

"I hope the Cannons do well this year," said Harry.

"This is their year," said Ron. "I can feel it."

Harry had gotten Ron twenty tickets to league games, which could be used at any one. They hadn't been cheap exactly, but Harry figured that he wasn't going to need his inheritance for too long, especially considering that the school was now paying for his school supplies. For the Weasley twins, Harry had gotten a fairly comprehensive gift package from Zonko's. Hermione had received the series of Encyclopedia Magica. Harry hadn't left the Weasleys senior out either, having sent Mr. Weasley a book on muggle technology he had found in one of Hermione's mail-in catalogues, and a cookbook for Mrs. Weasley. He had wondered if that was quite the right gift for her, as she was already an excellent cook, but he had been drawing a bit of a blank when it had come to the two adults, so he'd settled.

"Listen, Ron, I'm sorry about last night," said Harry.

"I'm sorry, too," said Ron, "I kind of brushed you off there."

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that," said Harry. "But hey, I'm not planning on going anywhere any time soon, alright?"

"Yeah," said Ron with a smile.

!

Christmas wound up being a very pleasant affair. There was much singing of carols, and delicious food. Harry and the Weasley's went outside for fun in the snow, and Harry and Ron wound up visiting Hagrid to warm up in front of his fire before heading back to the castle. The feast at dinner was widely regarded, by the sixteen people left in the castle, as the best that had been produced yet. Better still, unlike the last feast at Halloween, there was no attack afterwards.

The rest of the break passed peacefully, the only detraction was the ever present knowledge that the rest of the student body would be returning come the third of January. When they finally did, Harry found that while things did get bad again, they were not as bad as they had been, the rest of the student body having had the opportunity to distance themselves from the situation over break. Harry remained their chief suspect, but the ones who had been intent on making him miserable were less zealous about it.

One good thing about the start of term was that Harry was back in classes. Towards the end of the last term, the allure of new magic had diminished for Harry, his own mood making it hard to appreciate. Now with a fresh start, Harry was having fun in class learning new spells. Charms remained his favorite class, Professor Flitwick liked to make practical lessons fun, and he wasn't too dull about theory. Defense Against the Dark Arts remained a challenge for Harry, who was still singled out by Professor Druthers, but more often, Harry was able to keep up with the Professor's demands. He was at the top of the class.

A month passed, and there was no attack; the mood in the castle was further improved. Many in the castle still believed in the magic of Christmas, and Harry had on occasion heard speculation that the perpetrator (usually himself) had been moved by Christmas spirit to reform. Harry was skeptical that Christmas could be the answer to a problem as big as the Chamber of Secrets, but he was glad for the reprieve. Hostility towards him was at an all time low since Justin had been petrified, nearing the levels it had been at after Collin's petrifaction.

It was two weeks into February, when Harry realized that Ron's birthday was coming up, and he needed to get his friend something. Harry had never received Ron's present for his own birthday, but he knew that one had been sent, so he could hardly let Ron's birthday go unnoticed.

He was a little stumped as to a present though, and so he decided to ask someone who'd known Ron longer. The twins were an obviously poor choice on that front, as they couldn't be trusted to not mislead Harry as a prank. Percy just didn't seem like a good source for something like a birthday present idea, so that left Ginny. Harry was wary of interacting with the girl, for it was clear that she was besotted with him, a fact that made him distinctly uncomfortable. Other than Hermione, he wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to think about girls. He almost did go to Hermione for advice, but knew that Ginny was the right choice if he wanted to get Ron a good present. After all, Hermione's idea of a good present was a homework planner.

Ginny, who blushed and stammered when Harry approached her, told him that Ron, who had lived his whole life receiving hand-me-downs, would like something normal and practical to call his own. Harry understood this feeling well, and agreed with the sentiment. Ginny proved to be even more helpful, scrounging up a useful mail order catalogue from one of her friends.

Harry spent a while that afternoon going through the catalogue before deciding on the items he wanted. Harry had trusted the twins enough to ask them to keep Ron distracted, so Harry could work without worrying about Ron looking over his shoulder. Finished with his task, Harry stood and looked across the common room. Guiltily, he noticed that one of the twins had Ron in a headlock. He knelt back down over the table, and checked another box on the order form. Perhaps the twins hadn't been such a good idea.

Harry made his way up to the owlery with a rare jaunt in his step. He had a good feeling about Ron's birthday, like everything could be reset back to rights if everything went okay. He knew it for a fantastical thought, but then, didn't the wizarding world run on those?

Harry's journey came to an abrupt halt on the fourth floor, northern corridor. There on the floor lay Raymond Flores, a Ravenclaw sixth year, petrified. Hovering over him was the Gray Lady, who was as still as a statue, her usual opaque countenance now a smoky grey. Harry felt his mouth open in shock. He quickly resisted the urge to get help though. There was nothing to be done for the two, and he would be finished if he were discovered at the site of another attack. Seriously considering traveling under his invisibility cloak from then on, Harry ducked into a secret passage, and made a circuitous route to the owlery.

Hedwig flew down to Harry as soon as he arrived, and Harry stroked her feathers for a moment before sending her off with his order form. He then went to the small desk that was kept in the owlery for the purpose of writing quick missives on the go. On a scrap of paper, Harry wrote, 'Attack- Fourth Floor, North corridor.' On the other side of the paper, he addressed it to Professor Dumbledore. Quickly summoning a school owl, Harry sent the bird off with the message.

His job done, Harry stood amidst the hooting and fluttering of the owls around him in the dark and dank owlery. There could be no question about it now, he was being set up. Raymond had been one of the more vocal Ravenclaws against Harry, and Harry was certain that more than a few jinxes had been from the boy. For Harry to stumble across his petrified form, alone, was too much to be coincidence after everything else. Harry couldn't imagine who in the school, other than Malfoy, would want to frame him, but one thing was certain: they were doing a very good job of it. If he had been found next to the petrified forms of Raymond and the Gray Lady, people would have been calling for his head.

That reminded him, he needed to get back to the common room, or at least lost in a crowd of students, before the victims were found. He cursed himself for having sent the letter to Dumbledore; nothing would have happened to the victims if they had been left there. They were as safe as they could be in their petrified form. Making haste, Harry ran back to the common room.

!

Regardless of his haste, Harry was still regarded to be 'unaccounted for' during the time of the attack. The Ravenclaws were up in arms; oddly enough, they weren't complaining so much about Raymond. No, he may be a Ravenclaw, but the Gray Lady was their house ghost, and that stood for a lot more for them. The looks that Harry now received from that quarter could only be described as hateful.

It wasn't just hate that filled the school though, but fear as well. After all, no one had ever heard of anything like this being done to a ghost before. How could someone hurt what was already dead? That was what scared people the most. It was in this atmosphere of fear and anger that Harry was discreetly summoned to the headmaster's office the day after the attack.

Harry made his way miserably to the Headmaster's office. His greatest fear now, was that Professor Dumbledore would stop believing in him. Harry wasn't afraid of dying, not so much anyway, but he didn't think he could stand for it to happen because the Headmaster thought him to be not worth saving. If the man thought Harry were some kind of monster... Harry kept trying to think about something else, but his mind kept being drawn to the source of the pit in his stomach.

Harry finally reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. He gave the password and stepped forward onto the revolving staircase as the statue leapt to the side. Reaching the top, Harry paused on the landing, not wanting to go in.

"Come in Harry," Professor Dumbledore's voice called out from behind the door.

Harry sighed and entered the room.

"Hello Professor," he said.

"Hello Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, "please have a seat."

Well, the man didn't seem to be angry or upset. When Harry was seated, the Headmaster pulled out a scrap of paper and handed it to Harry.

"I trust you'll remember this," he said.

Harry grimaced. It was the note he had sent from the owlery. "Did my writing give it away?" he asked.

"That," said Professor Dumbledore, "and you are also the only student I could think of who would feel the need to alert me through such means." Harry stared down at his hands. "It was perhaps a wise choice to not be found at the scene of the attack, there is already too much suspicion laid at your feet."

Harry looked up in surprise. "You're not mad?" he asked.

"No," said Professor Dumbledore. "It may have been a wiser choice to go straight to a public place. There seems to be no indication that those who are attacked are in any further danger after their petrification, so there was nothing to be done for them that you needed to do. From now on though, I would like you to do your best not to go anywhere unaccompanied. If you always have an alibi, then not only will you be above suspicion in any further attacks, but you will also give no opportunity for the attacker to orchestrate an attack to frame you. Can you do that for me?"

Harry nodded reluctantly. It would be a sacrifice, giving up his solitude, but the professor's reasoning was straight forward enough, and he couldn't argue against it.

"Excellent," said the Professor. "Now, is there anything you would like to talk to me about Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Have you made any progress figuring out what to do with me, or the other horcruxes."

"I have," said Professor Dumbledore, "though perhaps not in any tangible manner. We're pioneering new ground here, Harry, right now I'm trying to find out what I need to know in order to begin approaching your problem. As for the horcruxes, I have begun compiling information about Voldemort. In time, I hope to have an idea of what kinds of objects he may have used, and where he may have placed them. This is all going to take a long time though, Harry, I hope you realize that. I know you can't appreciate such uncertainty about your future, but I ask that for now, you just focus on school and on your friends. For the moment, there is nothing for you to do."

"Okay," said Harry, feeling as though he hadn't really learned anything at all.

"Is there anything else?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"Well, there is one thing," said Harry nervously.

"Yes?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"I was just wondering, really, is there a chance that I am attacking people," he asked nervously, "and just don't know it?" he finished a little lamely.

"No," said Professor Dumbledore.

"Are you sure?" asked Harry.

"You are referring, I believe, to the piece of Voldemort that resides within you?" asked Professor Dumbledore. Harry nodded. "I assure you, you are as protected from it as you ever have been. It should have no opportunity to influence you, let alone possess you without your knowledge."

"How can I be sure though?" asked Harry.

"Have you experienced any periods of missing time?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"No," said Harry as he cast back through his memories, trying to see if anything were missing. "Would I know it if I had?" he asked.

"Oh, I dare say there would be a few clues," said Professor Dumbledore.

"Okay," said Harry, "um, that's all then."

"Very well, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, "you may go." Harry got up to leave. "Except," said the Professor, and Harry stopped.

"Harry, a few months ago you asked me why I hadn't killed you," stated the Professor.

Harry swallowed hard and nodded.

"Tonight, you asked me what could be a very dangerous question for you. That is not to mention some of your more death defying stunts. Are you so eager to find an early end?"

"No," said Harry defensively. "I just... I don't want to be afraid of it, you know?"

"There is a fine line between not fearing death, and seeking it out," said Professor Dumbledore. "I would like to ask for another promise Harry. Give me a chance to help you, before you write yourself off."

"Alright," said Harry. "Um, can I go now?"

"Very well," said Professor Dumbledore, "but remember what we discussed. Go nowhere alone."

Harry nodded. "Good bye, Professor."

!

"Harry!" Hagrid beamed down at Harry and his friends as he opened his hut to them. "Ron, Hermione, good to see you all. Come in, come in. And good to see you're not walking around alone these day's, Harry."

They all greeted Hagrid. It had been Ron and Hermione's idea to come down, and Harry was glad for the chance to get out of the oppressive atmosphere of the castle. He wished he could have more time to himself, but he was always game for a visit with Hagrid.

"What brings you all down?" asked Hagrid.

"Well you know how things have been lately," said Ron jauntily, "Slytherin's monster wouldn't dare attack with you around."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Hagrid. "Something's been killing all m' roosters witho' any care for me."

"Killing your roosters," asked Hermione. "Just the roosters?"

"Aye," said Hagrid. "No sense to it. I'd understand more if they'd been taken and eatin', but they were jus' left there."

"Let's talk about something cheerful," said Harry, not liking the turn of conversation. "Find anything interesting in the forest these days, Hagrid?"

"Aye, I have," said Hagrid, as he started to put some tea on. "There's a new colony of Imp's out there, been causing some trouble with the Centaurs.

"Any of you want some treacle, I just made a batch. Anyway, like I was saying the Centaur's are all upset about the imps settling in so close to them. Things go missing, you see."

Harry settled in a chair at Hagrid's table and listened to him talk about imps. The treacle would be okay if he soaked it in his tea first. It was good that Hagrid's hut was still the same as ever.

!

It was unconscionable, that bastard still running around with the Professors' blessings. At this rate, someone would die before Potter was taken seriously by anyone with the power to do something about him. Something had to be done, or no one would be safe.

So many fools were afraid of the boy; they didn't dare confront him to his face. They forgot that it was only the monster that made Potter powerful. Without it, he was just a twelve year old with a grudge. Stop the boy, and the monster would be neutralized as well. If only more people realized that, then they could all be safe again. Well, it was a good thing he was persuasive.

A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the long wait for this chapter. Life happens though, I guess. So, interesting news, I've started a yahoo group for my fics, if anyone's interested. It's called althor42FF.

Also, Isis's Bane and the Goblet of Fire is now finished, thus ending all current plans for fic in that universe. People have asked about sequels, and though there is potential for some, there's nothing currently in the works.

Furthermore, my Beta, who wrote most of Isis's Bane and the Goblet of Fire, who is going to boot camp in a few days, has written a one-shot, which he will be posting within a couple of days. You can find it under his pen-name: The Lord of Chaos.


	10. 09 Guilty

A/N: Sorry for the long wait!

Disclaimer: You all know that I don't own this, right? Props to JK.

Guilty

Ron's birthday party couldn't come soon enough. Harry had a sense that a good birthday party could set everything to rights. Well, maybe not everything, but it could perhaps get him out of his slump.

March first dawned without a cloud in the sky. Spring was showing the first signs of stirring, and that made it an excellent day to have a birthday party outside. It was Ron's thirteenth, and Harry's present for his friend had arrived a week ago. The package had arrived at breakfast, so Harry knew that Ron knew that there was a present, but Harry had managed to keep the contents a secret.

It was a small gathering out on the grass near Hagrid's hut. Everyone from their year in Gryffindor was there, as were Ron's siblings. The twins brought food, smuggled out of the kitchens. Percy had shot them a look, but turned a blind eye in honor of the occasion.

Ron's birthday, precisely one month before the twins', was on a Sunday this year, which made it almost ideal for for a party. It would have been better had Ron already finished his homework, but even Hermione only glared at him once for this trespass.

The party was a huge success, small though it was. Everyone was ready to let loose for a while and laugh. After they had eaten the pastries that the twins had brought, it was time for presents. By chance, Ron picked up Percy's gift first. When he saw the tag, Ron gave his brother a look that, to Harry, looked as though he didn't expect anything good.

Unwrapped, the gift revealed itself to be a copy of 'Twelve Effective Study Habits,' by Sally Sanders.

"Ooh, that's a good book,"commented Hermione. "I almost got it for you myself."

Ron gave her a sideways glance before giving a strained smile to his brother. "Gee, thanks. This'll come in handy."

"No it won't," said Fred. "But this will." He handed Ron a small box.

"This isn't booby-trapped is it?" asked Ron warily.

"Why we would never!" said Fred in outrage. "What do you think of your poor brothers?"

"Oh go on," said Harry, "it'll be good for a laugh either way."

"Good for a laugh for you," said Ron, but he started tearing away at the newspaper that wrapped the present.

"Oh, sugar quills," said Ron, "these _will_ come in handy."

"Mind you, we would have jinxed it," said George, "but Percy'd tell Mom, and we'd never hear the end of it."

Ron nodded in agreement.

Like the twins, Seamus and Dean had pooled their resources to buy Ron a box of chocolate frogs. Ginny gave him a couple of psychedelically colored quills. Next up was Harry's present.

Ron shook the box a little. "Well, it's big, and it's not a book," he said optimistically. He shredded the wrapping paper in moments and opened the box.

"Oh cool," he said, pulling out a blue shirt.

To Harry's delight, Ginny had provided a catalogue for a company that could put any quidditch team's logo onto whatever clothes you wanted. That meant that he could get his friend some Chudley Cannons clothes that weren't vibrant orange. He was quite certain that the gift would be appreciated, as Ron, like Harry, had grown up always wearing hand-me-downs, not having clothes bought just for him. In the box, there were two outfits extolling the virtues of the Chudley Cannons.

"These are awesome," said Ron. "Thanks, Harry."

"Yeah mate," said Harry, grinning back at his friend.

Hermione was last, and she had given him a new chess set.

After the presents, the festivities petered off, and a number of their year mates wandered off, as did Percy, who had prefect duties. They lay on the blanketed grass nibbling on left over treats talking and laughing.

When they got to discussing past memorable birthday celebrations, Harry had thought that he would have nothing to add to the conversation, having never had one, but he somehow wound up talking about the time with the Dursleys at the zoo. Of course, his eleventh birthday had been quite eventful, but Harry didn't think it quite fit the topic.

"So there I was commiserating with this boa that looked like it would rather be in Brazil, when Dudley crashes into me so he can get a look at the snake, who was moving around then. There I am fuming at him, when suddenly the glass he's pressing against like an idiot vanishes and he falls into the enclosure."

Everyone laughed, knowing that it was Harry's accidental magic that had vanished the glass, and that his cousin was still alive, so nothing too terrible could have happened as a result.

"You should have heard him screaming, like the thing was going to eat him, even though it never touched him, just slithered away making a bid for freedom. Then he was wailing about being bit by a poisonous snake, even though constrictors don't have fangs.

"Mind you, I got in trouble for it, even though my uncle wouldn't acknowledge magic. It was still worth it though."

Here the laughter got a little nervous, as Harry realized that he had tread close to subjects that he was not of the habit of discussing, namely the reality of his treatment at the hands of his relatives.

"Anyhow, that was the last time I did magic before I found out I was a wizard."

"The last time?" asked Seamus. "How many other times were there?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Harry. "There was the time I grew my hair back after a terrible haircut. The time I shrank an awful jumper my aunt wanted me to wear. There were a couple of times locked doors opened for me. I think the time Dudley's shoes tied themselves together when he was chasing me was magic. There was the time I turned my teacher's hair blue. The one that had to have been magic was when I teleported onto the roof of the school cafeteria."

"Eight times!" Exclaimed Neville.

"You apparated?" asked Seamus.

"I think it was eight times," said Harry, "and what's apparating?"

"It's where you disappear from somewhere and reappear somewhere else in an instant," said Hermione. "That's an awful lot of accidental magic, you know."

Harry shrugged. "I didn't even know that it was magic at the time," he said. "I remember I tried to explain to my uncle that a gust of wind must have caught me, when my headmistress sent a letter home about the cafeteria incident."

"I only ever did accidental magic that one time," said Neville.

Everyone still there seemed to agree that eight was a lot for accidental magic, and that apparition was most impressive. Out of the rest of them, Ron had had the most instances of accidental magic, of which there were four. Neville, who had heard all about other children's accidental magic growing up, as he was being coaxed into showing some of his own, was certain that he had never heard of anyone apparating on accident before.

Harry, who was feeling a little self-conscious at this point, and wishing he hadn't shared so much said, "Ah well, the Dursley's were so boring, my magic just had to make things interesting."

Ron gave him a look, and Harry found himself being able to interpret it quite easily. The Dursley's hadn't been boring, they had been plain horrible; if anything, that was why Harry's magic had been needed so much when he was younger. But no one said this aloud, and Dean took up a story about his first bout with magic. It was another hour until they made their way back to the common room, where Hermione cajoled Ron into finishing his homework.

That night, Harry saw Ron neatly putting away his new clothes before going to bed. Ron caught his gaze and smiled.

"Thanks again for these, mate," he said.

"Yeah," said Harry. "They seemed just right when Ginny showed me the catalogue."

"Alright," said Ron. "Well, I'm knackered. Night, Harry."

"Night, Ron," said Harry.

!

A month went by without major incident. Harry was still glared at and harassed in the hallways, but still, no one challenged him to his face. Another month passed, and people began to relax again. Hermione was still set on solving the mystery though, and Harry spent more time than he would have liked in the library with her and Ron looking for hints about the monster.

It was the day of the match against Hufflepuff, and Harry had heard the voice again that morning while out walking with Ron and Hermione; nothing had happened though. Still, it was was more motivation to try to figure out the mystery, and they once more found themselves spending a Saturday in the library, after the quidditch match (victory to Gryffindor). As the hours wore on, Harry's motivation dwindled.

"You know," said Harry, feeling incredibly bored and twirling his wand in his fingers, "I wonder if Old Flat-Nose ever tried to find the Chamber of Secrets, I bet it would have been right up his alley."

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Hermione, her nose still inches from the book in front of her. "He might even be the one to have opened it last time. We don't know when he went to Hogwarts."

Ron was staring at Harry with a half-amused/half-horrified expression on his face.

"What?" asked Harry, feeling a tad daring in his restlessness. "Would you prefer Big Ugly? Moldyshorts? Garlic Face? Voldy-kins?" Ron put his face in his hands and shook his head.

"I told you," said Harry. "I don't have any insulting powers, heck, I bet you'd be better at it than me. Go on, give him a nickname."

"Oh, but that's it!" cried Hermione, standing up in her seat. For once, she didn't seem to care that she was in the library.

"What's what?" asked Harry.

"Special insulting powers," said Hermione.

"Huh?" asked Ron.

"Harry, what if you could insult people, in a language no one else knows?"

"I don't get it," said Harry.

"I'll be right back," said Hermione, "I need another book. But oh, if I'm right..."

She dashed off, bumping into Patrick Bailey, a chaser Harry had just faced on the quidditch pitch. Though it was Hermione who had knocked into him, it was Harry who he glared at, before stalking off. Harry ignored him.

"Hermione," Harry called after her, Madam Pince had begun stalking over to their corner of the library because of the commotion, "I only speak English." She didn't respond, and kept on her way. "I only speak English," Harry repeated to Ron. Ron shrugged in bemusement.

Madam Pince reached their table. "What is the meaning of all this racket?" she asked sharply.

"Sorry," said Harry, "been sitting down too long, it's not good for us."

She glared at them, and threatened to expel them from the library if there was further disturbance. Harry rolled his eyes as she advanced on another corner of the library, looking for trouble. He and Ron went back to their books, knowing that there was no use trying to get answers from Hermione until she was ready to give them.

A great crash came from behind him, across the library, in the direction Hermione had gone.

"Hermione!" cried Ron.

Harry was up and out of his chair in a moment, and Ron was already past him, running towards the commotion, where things were still falling. Three book cases were down, and books had gone flying everywhere. Harry ran over.

"Go fetch Madam Pomfrey!" Madam Pince directed a student.

"Where is she?" Harry shouted. There was a lot of shouting. He and Ron stood at the edge of the scene of destruction, and cast about trying to find her. His seeker eyes saw her first.

"There!" he shouted, pointing at what looked like a bit of bare forearm that was visible through two of the bookshelves on the topmost case.

The bookcase levitated suddenly; Madam Pince cast it off to the side, and Harry and Ron rushed to their friend.

"Be careful!" Madam Pince cried. "There may be other students under there."

Ron started clearing books away from her, while Harry tried to get a look at her face. She was lying on her stomach, and not moving; Harry wanted to see if she might be conscious, but her eyes were closed.

"Help me turn her over," said Ron, and Harry helped cradle her head as Ron rolled her. Harry settled her head on his lap, searching for signs of life. She was breathing, thank Merlin. He was aware of shouting, but he focused on Hermione. How had this happened?

A hand grabbed his shoulder roughly, jerking it back. Bailey stood behind him.

"Get away from 'er, ya' header!"

"Get the hell off me!" Harry shouted.

Ron took a swing at Bailey, but the older boy sailed away at the last second, Madam Pince once more flicking her wand. Bailey landed nimbly a few feet away.

"You, boy," she said to Bailey, "go wait outside. I've had enough of this nonsense. Potter, step back so I can clear her away. Begin clearing away books, see if anyone else has been trapped."

With another flick of her wand, Hermione rose a few inches into the air before hovering over to the nearest patch of bare stone floor. Reluctantly, Harry and Ron began carefully picking through the debris with a couple of other students, but no one else was found.

It wasn't long before Madam Pomfrey bustled in looking flustered.

"What's happened in here?" she demanded.

"Some manner of accident or prank," said Madam Pince. "Miss Granger was struck by a falling book case."

Madam Pomfrey began examining Hermione. "I should hardly think it's a prank," she said. "Not with a petrified student just outside."

"What?!" asked Madam Pince, and the sentiment was echoed through the library by the students.

"Mr. Bailey," said Madam Pomfrey. "Professor McGonagall is with him now."

"But I just sent him out there," said Madam Pince, aghast. "He had been trying to pick a fight with Potter after the bookcases fell."

All eyes were upon him now, and Harry knew what they were thinking; he could see it in their eyes. Not that he had been vindicated, at last with an alibi, but that he had somehow orchestrated the attack while not being there in person. He wanted to shout at them all. Did they think he had hurt Hermione too? That was probably what Bailey had been shouting about in the first place, after all. How could they think he would hurt one of his friends?

"Is she going to be okay?" asked Harry.

"Well I should think so," said Madam Pomfrey, "I'll need to get her up to the hospital wing." And with that, she levitated Hermione and made her way out of the library.

Professor Dumbledore was the next one in. He examined the scene of the crime before waving his wand and guiding everything back to where it was supposed to be.

He interviewed everyone about what had happened, but no one had seen or heard anything, except for that Hermione had exclaimed that she had figured something out, and that Bailey had been saying something about Harry having his wand out when the bookshelves had fallen over. Harry remembered that he had been fiddling with it while he was studying. Ron defended him though, pointing out that Harry was hardly likely to be able to cast silently behind his back. Professor Dumbledore waved this away; he still did not consider Harry to be a suspect.

As he spoke to the other students, he sent them to their dorms when they finished, until it was just Ron and Harry left with him.

"Now, boys," he addressed them together. "Do the two of you know anything of what Miss Granger believed that she had discovered?"

They both shook their heads.

"I don't know, sir," said Ron. "She wasn't making any sense."

"I was calling Voldemort names," said Harry, "she said something about me being able to insult people in other languages, like that explained something. But I don't speak any other languages."

"Another language," Professor Dumbledore mused.

"Yes, sir. That's what she said."

"I see," said Professor Dumbledore. "Well, hopefully she will be able to put that into a better context when she awakens."

!

Hermione was the first victim from Gryffindor, and though she had never been very popular in their house, the hostility that Harry had been faced with from the rest of the school had now taken firmer root in the lion's common room. He heard the whispers, saw the looks as soon as he got back from the library. If Harry could do that to his friend, what would he do to someone else? If Harry could orchestrate an attack while under the watchful gaze of the school librarian and all of the students in the library, then who was safe? Harry went to do his homework on his bed, his curtains drawn, telling Ron that he didn't want any company.

He didn't manage to do any homework though, and he only just managed to stare at a blank roll of parchment for near a half an hour. Eventually, he tossed his quill across the bed and put on his shoes. Down in the common room, the mood was still grim, and Harry got a few looks. However, he managed to get out without drawing Ron's attention. No one else tried to bother him, and Harry got through the portrait hole without trouble.

It had been a while since he had had a proper wander, everyone being so concerned that he have an alibi. Now he was a suspect even when he had one! Well, there was no sense in chaining himself down when it didn't do him any good. He'd let his feet carry him where they would.

What had Hermione figured out? Harry would know if he could speak another language, wouldn't he? Maybe Hermione was thinking of the voice that Harry had heard before some of the attacks. But whatever she had figured out, Harry hadn't a clue.

So lost in his thoughts was Harry, that he never noticed the person who had come up from behind him until an arm wrapped around his neck, making it hard to breath, much less shout. He tried to scramble out of the hold, but he was pinned tight. Whoever had grabbed him used his other hand to bring the front of Harry's jumper up over his head. Seriously panicking now, Harry tried to kick back at his assailants legs, but they were too far back for him to get purchase.

Was this how it ended for him? Harry had thought the Heir of Slytherin had been more interested with framing him than killing him; he had never truly considered that he himself was unsafe walking the corridors. His vision dimming, Harry desperately began clawing awkwardly at the arm around his throat, his arms at funny angles due to his jumper. If Harry had to die, it would be on his own terms!

Though his clawing had seemed to be ineffective, the arm around his throat loosened, as his attacker's free hand clamped down on his mouth. Sensing an opportunity, Harry redoubled his struggle for escape, when suddenly all of the air in his lungs was expelled in a sickening lurch. Someone had punched him in the gut.

Harry sagged for a moment, focussing now on the silhouettes he could see through his jumper. In that moment, the person behind him and someone else wrestled him to the ground, the hand remaining clamped to his mouth, keeping him from shouting, or making any other sound. A foot came down hard on his chest, pinning him, and making it hard to breath again.

Something was wrong with this, the Heir of Slytherin couldn't have this many allies, could he? Whether he could or not, they all started kicking Harry.

In all the years of Harry hunting, Harry had never withstood such a brutal attack. Try as he might to get away, or just curl up into a protective ball, he couldn't, pinned down by his chest and head, as he was.

His arms were still positioned awkwardly due to his jumper, but he tried to bring them down to protect his sides. When he did though, one of the attackers kicked his left arm twice in just the wrong way. Harry heard a wet pop as his arm dislocated. It was just more pain on top of everything else though, and still, he could't scream.

How long it went on for, Harry could not say. It seemed to go on forever, but he knew from experienced that they always seemed to. It went on long enough for them to be thorough though, leaving only his head unscathed.

At some unspoken signal, the attack stopped. Breathing heavily through his nose as best as he could, Harry squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that it was finally over. The foot on his chest remained though, as did the hand covering his mouth.

Harry stayed very still as a new hand clasped the top of his jumper and pulled it down. Not enough for him to see, but his forehead was bared. Something sharp came down almost gently on his forehead, and Harry bucked, thinking it was a knife. More hands, there seemed to be an unending supply of them, held his head still. The point on his forehead began to move, and though it was rough on his skin, Harry realized that it was not a knife, but a quill. Harry squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, and tears escaped as he realized that they were writing something on his face.

It felt as though someone were trying to write a novel on his forehead, but finally this ended as well, and the people, students, Harry had realized, started shuffling back from around him. A sudden burst of angry defiance shot through him though, as the hand over his mouth started to move away, and with his one good arm, he grabbed that hand before it could get far, and he shoved it into his mouth, jumper and all. He clamped down hard, and finally someone yelled. Harry could feel bones between his teeth, and after a moment, skin yielded to the warm blood within.

His moment of retribution was short, and the owner of the hand started hitting him in the face hard until he released the hand. Still, the punches came, until the other students pulled the boy away.

"Evanesco!" Someone whispered. Harry felt his mouth go dry as the blood and saliva there were vanished. The students all ran away then. Harry stayed on the ground.

!

Ron was very worried. He was worried the most about Hermione. Someone had tried to silence her, that much was certain. Would they try again when Madam Pomfrey woke her up? He hoped Professor Dumbledore thought to protect her; what if someone tried to get her while she was still unconscious? Things at Hogwarts just kept getting worse and worse, and no one seemed to know how to fix things, not even Dumbledore.

Ron was also worried about Harry. Especially when there was nothing he could do for Hermione, and especially when Harry was missing. Harry knew better than to just wander off, but Ron couldn't find him in the dorm or in the common room. He'd checked the loos and everything. He wanted to ask if anyone had seen anything, but he didn't want people to know that Harry was missing, especially if something else happened while he was gone. He decided to check the dorm again.

Making his way up the stairs, Ron found his way blocked by a sixth year, who's name he didn't know.

"Looking for your boyfriend?" the boy asked.

"Piss off," Ron said aggressively, intending to push past him.

"Yeah, well I saw him slink off, looked like he was up to no good."

"You trying to say something?" Ron demanded heatedly.

"I'm saying it's about time you got your head out of your arse and stopped supporting that nutter."

"You'll want to close that mouth of yours, Sachet," a voice called from further up the stairs. It was one of the twins.

"You wouldn't want us to show you who the real nutters are around here, now would you?" said the other.

"You're as bad as he is," said Sachet. "Just hope that by the time you see the truth, it won't be too late for you." He stalked off down to the common room.

"What's going on?" Fred asked Ron, when he had come further down the stairs.

"It's Harry," said Ron, "he's gone missing."

"He's probably just off to blow some steam," said George.

"I don't like it," said Ron. "He know's better, it's not safe. Someone's clearly out to get him. I don't suppose either of you know where he went?"

"Nah," said George. "We've been up in our dorm."

"Thanks anyway," said Ron. He went past them to his dorm. Once more he checked Harry's bed and the loo. With a sigh, he went back down to the common room.

He had only just sat down though, when his brother's plunked down on either side of him.

"We asked around," said Fred. "Someone saw Harry heading up to the astronomy tower."

"They did?" Ron asked. "Who was it?"

"Don't worry about who, just go get him," said George.

"Right," said Ron, "thanks." He got up to head out of the common room.

What was Harry doing up at the astronomy tower? He was sure that Harry had already finished his Astronomy homework. He supposed that his friend was just off on a walk, but he'd make sure to give him an earful about going off alone.

Ron made his way up to the top of the astronomy tower, and sure enough, there was Harry. Ron was more than a little alarmed to see him sitting on top of the crenellations, his back to Ron, and his shoulders hunched.

"Harry," Ron called out to him. "What are you doing up here?"

"Go away!" Harry called back. Ron had never heard Harry sound so miserable.

"No I won't go away," said Ron, advancing on Harry. "Hermione's been crushed by a book case, and you disappear when you know someone's out to get you. I don't care if you're upset, we need to get back to the common room."

"Just leave me alone," Harry said miserably, and was his voice also tinged with pain? Ron walked up closer.

"Look, you can stay or you can go, but I'm not leaving y'- Bloody Hell!" Ron finally had a good look at his friend. "What in Merlin's name happened to you?"

Harry turned his bruised face away from him. "I was jumped," he said.

"Why didn't you go to Madam Pomfrey?" asked Ron, while his gut twisted with horror and rage.

"I didn't want Hermione to see me. I didn't want you to see me, either. I'm not going anywhere."

"It doesn't matter," said Ron. "Hermione's seen you hurt before, and so have I. You're going to the hospital wing."

"I'm not," said Harry, sounding a lot younger and more petulant than his twelve years would suggest.

"You are so," said Ron, grabbing Harry's arm, but Harry cried out in pain.

"Shite," said Ron. "How bad is it?"

"It's nothing," said Harry, swallowing the pain. He still wouldn't turn to face Ron.

"Look, this is ridiculous," said Ron. "You really are cracked if you think this is nothing. Get down from there, and come with me."

Harry was quiet for a moment, and then finally, he shifted his weight to get off of the crenellation. As he got down, he still tried to keep his face away from Ron. Ron didn't let him though, and moved so Harry couldn't avoid him. There was a black eye, a swollen jaw, and something written on his forehead. Harry looked down.

"What's it say?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," said Ron nervously. "Madam Pomfrey will take care of it."

"Just tell me," said Harry, "I'll just find a mirror; I can read backwards."

Ron sighed. "'Dark Lord. Leave Hogwarts, or we'll make you.' Are you happy now? Just ignore it. They're tossers anyway, and they'll be the ones getting kicked out for this. Now come on." He started leading Harry down from the tower.

"I just wish this was all over," said Harry.

"You and me both," said Ron. "Just wait, Hermione'll be awake by now, and she'll have everything figured out, and Dumbledore'll take care of everything by dinner time."

They walked down the stairs in silence and started down the hallway. Harry kept his head down.

"I thought things would be better, you know?" he said eventually.

"I guess I thought the same thing," said Ron. "When Bailey was petrified, that was the first thing that popped into my head. That doesn't sound right, but it's true. I thought, 'Now people can finally say that Harry wasn't there when someone was attacked.' But people are acting even stupider instead."

"That's not what I meant," said Harry.

"Oh," said Ron, but Harry didn't elaborate straight away. Ron let the silence fall.

They walked down another floor, and started down another corridor when Harry spoke up again.

"It was the whole year that was supposed to be different. Hogwarts was supposed to be wonderful in the first place, but Quirrell ruined things last year. He sucked the magic right out of the castle, but this year was supposed to be right."

Finally, Ron understood exactly what Harry meant. He couldn't imagine what it had been like for him to grow up as a muggle, trapped with the Dursley's, to find out that magic was real, and that he was going to go to a magical castle. For him, Hogwarts was the expected destination; it always had been. But that didn't mean that it wasn't tremendously special to him. He had dreamt of Hogwarts since he was a small child, soaking in stories from his parents and older siblings. He could remember being four, and Bill and Charley had come back from Hogwarts with their trunks and their wands, telling tales of Quidditch and the house cup.

Quirrell had perverted his first year of Hogwarts; he had cast a malevolent shadow over what was supposed to be wondrous. Ron remembered the fear of watching Harry hang in midair, only just holding onto his broom. He could remember the feeling of dread as it sunk in that Voldemort was going to come back, and it was up to Ron, Harry, and Hermione alone to stop him. But didn't Harry understand that this was also what had made the year amazing as well? A fully trained dark wizard and Voldemort himself had tried to destroy Harry on two occasions, and Harry had won. The three of them had pitted themselves against the best tricks the professors of Hogwarts could come up with, and they had prevailed. Ron still had a scar on his scalp from where the black queen had struck him to prove it. Yes, everything had gone to Hell, but they had been victorious!

Everything had gone even worse this time, Ron could see that; and maybe things wouldn't work out this time. But he couldn't understand why Harry focused on what was wrong with last year, not when it had turned into a shining beacon of their ability to overcome the odds. Why should they see their first year so differently? The attitude was there in everything that had seemed off about Harry since Harry had woken up in the hospital wing last June.

"I guess you're right," said Ron. "This year is all wrong. You saved everyone last year, and now they all think you're some sort of dark wizard. But you're wrong about last year. We were real Gryffindors last year, and everyone knew it. Everything worked out. How's that wrong?"

"You don't get it," said Harry.

Frustrated, Ron silently agreed. Harry didn't say anything else the whole rest of the way down to the hospital wing. Hermione was nowhere in sight when they got there.

"As though I don't see enough of you, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey rounded on them. "Now you've been fighting?"

"He hasn't been fighting, has he!" said Ron heatedly. "He's been beat up."

"Who's done this to you?" asked Madam Pomfrey indignantly, getting a good look at him.

"I don't know," said Harry. "There were a bunch of them, I never saw their faces. They didn't say anything either."

"Where are you hurt?" she asked.

Harry shrugged with a wince. "Everywhere."

"Alright," she said, gesturing to a screened off bed. "Down to your underwear. I'll need to inform your head of house."

"Hold on," said Ron. "Where's Hermione? Haven't you woken her yet?"

Madam Pomfrey's face darkened. "It wasn't just a blow to the head. Someone's cursed her. She'll be alright, but there won't be any waking her for quite a while."

"What do you mean, 'for a while'?" asked Ron. "How long is she going to be out for?"

"It could be a matter of weeks," said Madam Pomfrey, "unless the castor reverses the spell. We should consider ourselves lucky that it wasn't worse. The assailant was a powerful wizard."

"But can't you do anything?" asked Harry.

"I am doing something," said Madam Pomfrey. "She'll be getting a potion every morning. If not for that, she would never wake up."

She turned to go to her office.

"Blimey," said Ron, helping Harry over to the bed. "She must have really figured something out." He started helping Harry wrestle out of his clothes.

"Why didn't they just kill her?" asked Harry darkly. "It's like they're playing a game, and they don't want it to be over too soon."

"What are you talking about?" asked Ron.

"It's a dark wizard, whoever's doing this. Using some deadly monster, since it's supposed to kill all the muggleborns, but no one's been killed, not like last time. Then Hermione finds out too much, and he just curses her to stay asleep. Everything points to me, but they aren't going for the kill. But then, they'd probably close the school if students were being killed, wouldn't they? He's drawing this out, whoever it is. I wonder if he had anything to do with me getting jumped."

Ron wanted to tell Harry that that he was being crazy, but his theory all seemed to fit neatly with what was going on. "I don't know, Harry."

Harry was down to his boxers now, and he looked terrible, covered in bruises.

"You don't have to stay," said Harry.

"Bugger off," said Ron.

"You won't be staying if that's what your language is going to be like." Madam Pomfrey announced as she bustled in.

Ron wasn't in the mood to be lectured, but he wasn't in the mood to be kicked out either, so he stayed silent and hopped up on the bed next to Harry, giving the Matron plenty of room to examine his friend.

"They've done a number on you, that's for sure," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Can we get this over with?" asked Harry.

"No need to be snippy dear," said Madam Pomfrey, waving her wand about. "Cracked ribs," she said. "Plenty of bruises. Small fracture in your arm. Did you dislocate your shoulder?"

"I popped it back in," said Harry.

"Honestly," Madam Pomfrey tutted. "That's not something you do on your own, not when I'm a short walk away."

Of course, Ron thought, Harry had been avoiding the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey began waving her wand about, healing this and that. She pulled a small clay pot out of her robe and began briskly rubbing the salve in it into Harry's bruises. Harry grimaced, but didn't say anything. When she finished, she handed the pot to Harry with instructions to rub some into any bruises hidden by his underwear. She and Ron gave him some privacy.

!

Left to his own devices, Harry very nearly just sat there doing nothing. However, with the rest of his body healing up, the bruises on his hips and around the upper portions of his legs were starting to throb most spectacularly. With a slightly shaking hand, Harry got a dollop of salve before standing up and disrobing completely to apply it.

He had never felt so low. Certainly he was used to being beaten up by his cousin and his cousin's gang. He was used to going to going to a school where everyone thought ill of him, but somehow his early childhood experiences in Little Whinging, Surrey couldn't compare to this day in Hogwarts. He felt as though he were drowning, and could not keep his head above the surface. He remembered the time that Dudley had sat on his chest, and he couldn't manage to breath in; his vision had begun to go black before his cousin had gotten up. Hogwarts wasn't supposed to be like that. It had been corrupted by the heir of Slytherin, and its inhabitants with it.

There had been a Gryffindor involved in the attack, he knew that. Probably more than one, even. He hadn't passed anyone in the hallway before being attacked; someone had to have noticed him leaving the common room. What had been the plan? Wait for the next attack, and be ready for the first time that Harry was out alone afterward? If there were Gryffindors involved, then Harry was hardly safe inside his own dorm. And how ridiculous was that? That Harry should be afraid of mere students when he had faced down Voldemort himself and won, and yet now he was afraid of school boys when he went to bed. Never mind that Harry was just a school boy himself, and a young one at that.

He wondered what it would be like to go through these experiences without the horcrux hanging over him. It might make a difference; maybe he would just spring right back up with a kick in his step. Maybe he wouldn't have been a suspect in the first place if he hadn't been so gloomy through much of the year. Harry could hardly remember what he had been like, before the horcrux.

Harry thought about the words written on his forehead. The scratches were gone, but the ink, he knew, remained. They wanted him to leave Hogwarts. They should understand that Hogwarts was his home, the only one he had, and the only one he wanted. He could no sooner leave Hogwarts than he could stop flying. Harry sure as hell wasn't going to leave Hogwarts, but that certainly meant future conflict with the boys who had attacked him. Harry resolved himself; they could try, but Harry wouldn't let them uproot him.

New sounds reached Harry's ears, and he could make out Professor McGonagall's distinctive Scottish brogue. Harry finished applying the salve and got dressed again. Mostly healed up now, it was a lot easier than it had been to get undressed. Not particularly wanting to speak to Professor McGonagall, but knowing that he needed to, Harry huffed and poked his head outside of the privacy curtain. Not saying anything, he simply approached the small group. Madam Pomfrey was still going through the list of injuries.

"And there were no injuries to indicate that he had been fighting as well?" asked Professor McGonagall when the nurse was finished.

"Not a one," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Alright," said Professor McGonagall, sounding weary and sad, she gazed down at Harry. "Well, Harry," she said. "I'll need to hear what happened from you."

Harry nodded self-consciously. A part of him knew that it was irrational, but he felt as though he had let his head of house, his de facto guardian, down by having been beaten up. Shouldn't he, as a Gryffindor, been able to put up a better fight?Still, he needed to tell her what happened.

"I went for a walk," he said. "Maybe I shouldn't have gone alone, but I figured I didn't need an alibi anymore since I already had one, and it wasn't doing me any good."

"I do understand your desire for solitude, Harry," said Professor McGonagall, "but I think we can both agree that it is well outside of your best interests until this year is over. You will have to make due with your dormitory."

Harry nodded, resigned. "I don't know how many of them there were, or who any of them were. Someone grabbed me from behind and pulled my jumper over my face. They kept me pinned down and my mouth covered the whole time. There were a bunch of other kids kicking me. Then someone wrote on my forehead. They were all about to leave, but I managed to bite the hand that had been covering my mouth. I broke the skin, but they vanished all the blood. Whoever it was is who hit me in the face to get me to let go. Then they all ran away."

Gone was the sadness, Professor McGonagall looked outraged.

"A cowardly attack," she said. She proceeded to ask questions about his perceptions of the person who had grabbed him, the foot that had held him down, the one who had written on his forehead, the one that had cast the spell. She asked if he had been able to make out anyone's figure through the material of his jumper. Harry gave what answers he could, but felt entirely inadequate in his responses. It was only as things were winding down that the spark of outrage that had lit in him as he had stood behind the privacy screen kindled again and burst. It washed away the shame, and he felt himself stand up straighter under the gaze of his head of house.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I'll have to admit, the students who did this were clever about it. But they weren't clever enough, because they should have known that I will not let this stand. I will do all that is within my power to find those responsible and see them punished."

"Thank you," Harry said a little awkwardly, his outrage fleeing in the face of Professor McGonagall's personal attestation of her resolve.

Professor McGonagall nodded down to him. "Do take care of yourself, Harry. Or at least, allow your friends to do so for you."

Harry blushed and nodded. Professor McGonagall turned to Madam Pomfrey.

"The writing on his forehead?"

"I recognize the ink used," said Madam Pomfrey. "It's a new joke product, I believe. I've had a few cases of it already, though nothing so malicious. Unfortunately there hasn't been a counter developed for it. Anything that I could use would burn the skin, and there's been enough trauma tonight. It will fade within forty-eight hours."

Professor McGonagall twisted her lips. "Well, Harry," she said. "It seems you'll be displaying your house colors for a couple of days." She pulled out a fresh handkerchief and waved her wand over it, before handing it to Harry. He saw it to now be a red and gold striped head band. Under the watchful eyes of Professor McGonagall, Ron, and Madam Pomfrey, he found himself modeling it for them.

"Yeah," said Ron, "it looks good."

"Thanks, Professor," said Harry.

"Thank me when I find who did this," said Professor McGonagall.

Harry nodded, having nothing to say about it. Just then, the doors to the hospital wing burst open. Hagrid stood on the other side of the doorway, holding a tray that was dwarfed by his hands. He looked fit to chew nails.

"Y'all righ' there 'Arry?" he asked.

"Er, yeah," said Harry.

"What a rotten thing to do to you," said Hagrid. "Why if I get my hands on the ones who did it..."

"Hagrid," Professor McGonagall said. "When I asked you to fetch some dinner for him, I had hoped that you would have calmed down by the time you had gotten here."

"It's one thing, the Heir of Slytherin petrifying students," said Hagrid. "Evil will do wha' it does. But students mobbing students? And 'Arry at that!"

"Yes, it's quite dreadful," said Professor McGonagall, "but let us at least remain civil in the hospital wing."

Hagrid looked a little abashed.

"You brought dinner?" asked Ron. Harry hadn't even realized that it was dinner time already. He didn't have an appetite.

"Yeah," said Hagrid. "Didn' know you'd be here too though."

Ron looked crestfallen.

"I thought that you might prefer having your dinner here tonight, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall.

Harry nodded. "I guess I would," he said. A part of him said that it was giving a victory to the ones who had attacked him, but the louder voice saying that he just wanted to be left to himself drowned it out.

As Professor McGonagall said her goodbyes, and Madam Pomfrey made herself busy, Hagrid settled Harry down on the side of the nearest bed with the tray on one of the tables that rolled around to allow patients to eat in bed. Ron sat down next to him, and Hagrid across from him. Harry began nibbling on the food, knowing that to do otherwise would be to incur the wrath of Madam Pomfrey.

"You're all healed up then, 'Arry?" asked Hagrid.

"I'm alright," said Harry.

"Not that you'd tell us if you weren't," said Ron. Harry shrugged. "You know, he went all the way up to the astronomy tower after?"

Hagrid blinked in surprise. "Why'd you go up there for?"

"Don't know," said Harry, nibbling on a roll. Of course he did know; though he could not be honest with his friends, he was honest with himself. When the attack had been over, Harry's mind had turned to his first night back at the castle, the first time he had trekked up to the astronomy tower alone. Sitting up there, Harry had wondered if Hermione would have been attacked if she hadn't been his friend. Harry wondered how many twelve year olds thought of such things.

He glanced over at Ron who was gazing longingly at the tray of food. Harry nudged him in the side with his elbow and gestured for him to help himself. Ron didn't need any more prompting, and he and Harry shared the food.

Harry and Ron found themselves talking about their research in the library, and whatever it was that Hermione thought that she had figured out. Hagrid couldn't think of any other languages that Harry might speak either.

"I've no idea what she was thinking, though I guess the Heir of Slytherin did," said Ron. "What I want to know is who opened it last time. No one will tell us who died, or how it happened. It's like were looking at only half a chess board. I don't know how we're going to figure any thing out unless we know more about what happened fifty years ago."

Hagrid began fidgeting, and Harry's eyes opened owlishly as he realized that Hagrid knew something that he didn't want to say. Before he could say anything though, the doors to the infirmary were opened again, and in walked a peculiar man with a lime-green hat on his head. Harry had never seen him before, and immediately worried that he was some wizarding law enforcement officer, here to interrogate him.

"Minister Fudge," said Madam Pomfrey in surprise. "What brings you to my infirmary, tonight?"

"Terrible business, I'm afraid," said Minister Fudge, looking very much like he wished he hadn't run into Madam Pomfrey.

"I can't see what business you would have in my infirmary," she said. "None of the victims can tell you anything."

"I'm not here for the victims," said Fudge. He turned towards Hagrid. "Hagrid, I'm afraid you'll have to come with me."

"What's going on?" asked Harry, as Hagrid said, "But I never! You know I never!"

"I'm afraid your record is against you," said Minister Fudge. "You've no idea the pressure we're under at the ministry, something must be done. So you see, I have to take you in, or people will start to ask why I haven't!"

"What's going on?" asked Harry again. "Hagrid hasn't done anything!"

"Yeah," said Ron. " How could you say that Hagrid has anything to do with this?" he asked heatedly.

"Mr. Potter," said Minister Fudge, addressing only Harry. "I am the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and as Mr. Hagrid was implicated the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, I'll have to take him."

"Take me where tho'," asked Hagrid.

"Well, I'm afraid..."

"Not Azkaban!" cried Hagrid, sounding more afraid than Harry could ever imagine him being.

"It is only for a little while," said Minister Fudge. "Should someone else be apprehended, then you will be released with our apologies."

Harry didn't know what Azkaban was, but he had heard enough. "You don't even think he's guilty!" He shouted as Ron chimed in with agreement. "Professor Dumbledore won't let you take him."

Now Fudge looked annoyed. "I think you'll find that Professor Dumbledore does not have the power to stop me." Madam Pomfrey scoffed. Fudge gave her a look. "And if I were you, Mr. Potter, I would be keeping my head down. There are those at the ministry who would have had me come for you tonight instead."

Harry's mouth opened wide, whether in outrage, shock, or dismay, even he didn't know. Hagrid cut in before he could make sense of his own feelings or make a retort to Fudge.

"Quie' Harry," he said severely. He had never spoken to Harry in such a way, as an adult does to a child that they need to follow directions. Harry found his mouth closing on it's own accord."

"But that's ridiculous," said Ron. "He has an alibi now!"

"There is no such thing as an alibi when we don't even know how the attacks are being orchestrated," said Fudge growing weary. "Now, Hagrid, it's time to go."

"I'm comin'," said Hagrid gruffly. "But remember this Fudge: if you ever go after 'arry, you'll have a lot more than me to get through."

Fudge clearly became flustered at this statement, but Hagrid stalked past him before he could say anything. He didn't exit the hospital wing though, stopping in the doorway. He turned back to Harry and Ron.

"Abou' wha' we were talkin' abou' earlier," he said. "You jus' need t' follow the spiders. Tha' aught t'take care o' things."

Harry and Ron shared a confused glance. Minister Fudge didn't spare them another moment, and blustered off after Hagrid.

The only adult left in the room, Harry and Ron turned to Madam Pomfrey.

"What was that all about?" asked Ron.

"It's a matter of public record, I suppose," said Madam Pomfrey, "Hagrid was implicated in the opening of the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago. He has always maintained his innocence, however, and the Headmaster believes him."

"So why didn't you say anything?" Harry demanded. "You just stood there while he took Hagrid away!"

"And what did you expect me to do?" asked Madam Pomfrey indignantly. "Hagrid knows that he has my support, and he doesn't need any empty gestures to show it, which is what I would have been doing had I opposed the minister. It's my job to look after you all, and I can't do that if I'm in trouble with the ministry, now can I? Now, you're healed up and fed. Off to your dormitory, and get plenty of rest."

Off Harry and Ron went, frustrated and angry, venting about the unfairness of it all on the way up to the Gryffindor common room. There was someone waiting for them there when they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Professor Dumbledore!" said Ron in surprise.

"Mr. Weasley," said Professor Dumbledore in greeting. "I'm afraid that I need to a moment of your friend's time."

"Er, alright, sir," said Ron. "I'll just go inside then."

"Do have a good night," said Professor Dumbledore.

"Thank you, sir," said Ron before giving the password to the Fat Lady. "And you too." He went into the common room, and closed the portrait behind him.

Harry and Professor Dumbledore stood alone in the hallway.

"I am afraid Harry, that I have some bad news for you."

"Er, I know about Hagrid, sir. But can't you do something about that."

"I'm afraid that that would be outside of my abilities. I may hold the highest seat on the Wizengamot, but I am only one voice. For now, Hagrid is outside of my reach. Hagrid mentioned that you were there when he was arrested, and I am sorry that you had to see that, Harry, but that is not why I am here. You see, I must leave the school."

"Leave the school," said Harry. "I don't understand."

"The school governors have decided, as is their right, to remove me from the school, seeing as I have not put an end to the attacks. I leave tonight."

"But you can't leave!" Harry exclaimed. "You're probably the only thing keeping us alive!"

"I think that you will find that I am not the only capable professor in this school Harry. Remember, help will always be given to those in this school who need it. This may well be a good thing, if I can be clever enough." The look in Professor Dumbledore's eyes said that he did in fact believe himself to be so clever. "I now have more time to research such matters as the Chamber of Secrets, and other issues that we have discussed.

"I came here to make sure that you knew, that though I am gone, I have not given up. Not on you, and not on this school. Today of all days has been difficult on you, but you must stay strong. Again, I must ask you not to give up faith."

Harry swallowed, and stayed silent for a long moment.

"It's just become so hard," he said finally.

"It may become harder still," said Professor Dumbledore. "Remember that this is not the first time you have had to withstand adversity, nor will it be the last. You have survived it before, and will again. The trick is, Harry, to dwell on the other times. Stick close to your friends, and not just because it is safer. I don't intend to be gone for long, but if I am, remember that I have not forgotten about you."

Harry nodded, even as it felt as though the world was being dismantled around him. First Hermione, then the attack, then Hagrid, and now Dumbledore. What would be next.

"Goodbye, sir," he said.

"Good night, Mr. Potter," said Professor Dumbledore. "You will forgive me, I hope, but this is not good bye. Sleep well, if your are able. I dare say, you will need your rest."

And with that, he was gone. Harry wondered if he ever would see Professor Dumbledore again.

Harry made his way into the common room, letting his eyes take in it's occupants. Which one had it been to alert the others? Had they joined in on the attack itself? Whether or not the Heir of Slytherin had had any kind of hand in the attack, Harry didn't know, but it was the suspicion generated by him that had brought this down upon Harry. More than anything, Harry wanted to find the Heir, and expose him.

Harry made his way through the common room, noting the mistrustful looks from many of his fellow students. He held his head high as he walked through to the stairs that led to the boys dorms. He opened the door to the second year dorm.

"Wait, Harry!" Ron cried from the middle of the room, holding his arms out in a useless gesture to hide from Harry what was behind him. Neville stood on Harry's bed, fumbling with a knot that someone had tied around one of the posts on his bed. Harry followed the rope to the object hanging below.

It felt as though ice had encased his vital organs, and for a moment, Harry stopped breathing. Hanging by the neck was a white plush owl; the message was clear. Harry stormed past Ron to his trunk. From it, he pulled out the knife that he used in potions. Neville scrambled out of his way as Harry got onto his own bed. Pulling the cord taught, Harry sliced through it, before tossing the knife on the bed and storming out of the dormitory.

Down the steps he went, to stand at the base, staring at the occupants of the still full Gryffindor common room. The room fell silent in moments, such was his current ignominy. Harry spoke coldly.

"I was attacked today by no fewer than six cowards today." He reached up and pulled the head band off from his head, and he tossed it into the common room. "They wanted me cowed. The wanted me gone. Well I know two things. One, that at least one of those cowards was a Gryffindor. And two, I am not cowed, and I am not going anywhere. I've had my body broken before, and I suspect I will again." He held up the rope that held the owl. "But if anyone hurts anyone I care about, and that includes Hedwig, then they'll learn to fear me far more than they ever feared the Heir of Slytherin, because the Heir only petrifies his victims."

Harry cast the owl away from himself as well, and turned to ascend the stairs for one final time that night, slipping between a stunned Ron and Neville. The silence in the common room continued until he had passed the seventh year boy's dorm, and then it sounded as though everyone was talking. Harry didn't care. He would keep his promise, and he would start with the Heir.

A/N: So, once again, sorry for such a long wait. I hope all of you remember enough of the story to get back into it. Grad school has been super crazy, and Winter break was super busy. I did go to Hawaii though, so I can't complain. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember, every time you review, an angel gets it's wings, and I write the next chapter a little bit faster.


	11. 10 Guile

Disclaimer: I wish I owned this. I'd totally be rich, and writing this from the deck of my yacht. But I don't have a yacht, because Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

Guile

_It was absolutely horrible, Tom, _she wrote. _Some students attacked Harry today. I don't know how bad it was, but I know they did terrible things to him. Ron wound up taking him to the hospital wing. _

Tom wrote back. _He must have been very upset to have something like that happen to him. Especially with everything else._

_You don't know the half of it, Tom, _she wrote. _They threatened him too. They left a threat in his room that they would hurt Hedwig if he didn't leave the school. He was furious. He came down to the common room and threatened to kill anyone who hurt any of his friends._

_He made a death threat?_

The way it was written, she could almost hear the shock that would have been in his voice, had he had one. _Not in so many words, of course. But it was clear that that was what he meant. I don't blame him, of course. If anyone hurt my brothers, I'd want to hurt them pretty badly back._

_What about himself though? Did he tell them what might happen to anyone that attacks him?_

_No, it was like he didn't even care that he'd been hurt. He as much as said so himself. I always knew he was self..._

The life in her eyes faded before a new life came into place. Tom sat up and put the diary away before standing up. Things had taken an interesting turn; he had some work to do.

!

"You wanted to see me Professor?" asked Harry. "Er, or should I call you 'Headmistress'."

"'Professor' is suitable Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "And I did wish to speak with you. Have a seat."

Harry walked into Professor McGonagall's office and took a seat in one of the chairs across from her desk. The words, 'Mr. Potter', rang through his mind. She had taken to calling him Harry in private this year. Was she angry with him?

"Are you the headmistress though?" he asked.

"I am acting as the headmistress, yes, until Professor Dumbledore returns."

"Then are you still my head of house? And what about my guardianship?"

"I am still your head of house, Harry, and I am still your de facto guardian. Nothing has changed in that regard, and it is not why I have called you here today."

Harry looked down at his hands.

"Is it because of what I said in the common room yesterday?" he asked.

"I should think so, Mr. Potter! Did you think I would have nothing to say when you threatened to kill your housemates?"

"But I wasn't threatening my housemates," said Harry. "Just, you know, anyone who hurt anyone I care about."

Professor McGonagall gave him a stern look. "I can appreciate your loyalty to your friends, Mr. Potter, but can you honestly tell me that this was the best way to go about it?"

"They hung an effigy of Hedwig on my bed," said Harry frustratedly. "They've already shown that they mean business, so it was either leave, or show them that _I _mean business too. And I'm not leaving."

"Hedwig can be kept safe," said Professor McGonagall. "As can you and your friends. We will be instituting new measures to ensure that no one goes anywhere alone, and Hedwig can stay in any number of places aside from the owlery. Send her to the Burrow, and give their aged owl a vacation. Do anything but give your fellow students another reason to mistrust you."

"Ron and I sent her off this morning," said Harry quietly.

"Then you've some sense between the two of you," said Professor McGonagall. "I do understand your desire to make a response to all of the things that happened to you yesterday, Harry, though I do not approve of the response itself. I too will be sending a message to Gryffindor in the form of a two-hundred point deduction. You are almost certainly right that one of your housemates was involved in the attack. One at least had access to your dormitory. Their actions will not stand."

Harry didn't care at all about the house cup anymore, but rationally, he knew that he couldn't afford any more ill-will. "Is any of that because of me?"

"No, Harry," said Professor McGonagall. "Though I will expect you in my office for the next week, one hour of study time a day after classes. Perhaps it will encourage you to speak with me first, if you're planning to do anything else brash."

"That doesn't really sound like a detention."

"That is because it is a precaution, Harry. As much as I object to what you said last night, I would not have expected rational behavior out of any of my students, should they have gone through what you went through yesterday."

"So, you're not mad?" asked Harry.

"I'm very angry, Harry, but not with you."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling more than a little relieved.

"Mr. Weasley may accompany you to my office, should he desire, so long as he too intends to study."

Harry nodded. "Can I go to breakfast now?"

"You may, Mr. Potter," she said; Harry turned to the door. "Oh, and Harry," he turned back around, "do hold on to this one." She held out another headband to him.

Sheepishly, Harry reached out and took it. "Thanks," he mumbled, and left. Ron was waiting for him outside the door with Neville.

"How'd it go?" asked Ron.

"I'm not in trouble, but I sort of have detention, and you're invited," said Harry.

!

"Now can anybody tell me the best way to avoid being hit by a dark curse?" asked Professor Druthers. "Anyone? How about you, Mr. Potter."

The professor always picked Harry. He supposed that it was because of the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing, but for once he wasn't complaining. He was really learning a lot from the professor.

"Well, the book says to duck behind a metal or stone barrier," said Harry.

"That's exactly what the book says on the matter," said Professor Druthers. "But I imagine you have your own opinion."

"Well," said Harry. "Unless you're living in a stone castle, barriers like that aren't always easy to come by."

"That depends, but an excellent point. What would you do instead?"

"Well, right now, I'd either strike at my attacker before they could get me, or run. When I'm older, I suppose I could cast a shield, or transfigure my own barrier."

"A good thought," said Professor Druthers. "You will certainly be learning different shields later on. And Professor McGonagall will be happy to teach you how to transfigure such barriers in later years. But you've forgotten one important thing."

"Oh," said Harry.

"Can you think of what that might be?" asked Professor Druthers.

Harry shook his head.

"Can anyone tell me?" asked the professor. No one raised their hand. "You can give up," the professor finally said to the quiet class.

"Give up?" asked Harry. He wasn't the only one who seemed puzzled by the professor's statement.

"A great many of you will likely be threatened with a wand in your adult life. I do not say this to frighten you, as it is not overly alarming. It is very likely that most of you will go through your entire lives without having to face down a serious dark wizard. You might however find yourself in an argument that leads to drawn wands, or a mugger in a dark alley. There are certainly occasions where you may have no choice but to defend yourself, and that is one reason why this class is important, but a loss of pride or money is not worth your life or your health.

"I understand that this has not exactly been your experience, Mr. Potter, so you may be excused for not having the correct answer. But you too must understand that not all problems are solved with a duel."

"I'm supposed to just let someone take my stuff?" asked Harry.

"Let me put it in another context then," said Professor Druthers. "If someone put a wand to your friend's head and demanded your money, at how many galleons would you risk letting a permanently damaging spell impact that friend?"

Harry huffed in his seat. The question hardly seemed fair, but he didn't know how to answer, other than that he probably would hand over the money.

"It's not a lesson that young people such as yourselves, or really anyone for that matter, likes to hear, but it is worth learning. Your lives have value, and that value is greater than the contents of your purse. Pride has value as well, but you won't have any if you're dead."

Only fight if you have to. Harry wondered what Gryffindor would have thought of the sentiment.

"Getting back to the chapter, who do we have left in this class who can manage to cast the barrier finding spell? Mr. Potter?"

Harry fingered a folded up piece of paper in his pocket as he stood up, his wand in hand. He knew what spell his professor wanted him to cast, but...

"Ostenderme resistentium," Harry incanted as he tapped the bridge of his own nose.

The world lit up just a little to Harry's eyes, and Harry pointed to the professor's desk, which shone the most. The professor, it seemed, had reinforced the back of it. A moment later, the effect ended.

"A very useful spell, assuming you have time to cast it," said Professor Druthers. "Not the one the book suggests though."

"Well the one in the book was a little useless, wasn't it?" asked Harry.

"You should know by now that you can only get points if you tell me why," said the professor.

"Revaleo Resistente shows everyone the best barriers, so it'll be kind of obvious where you're going."

"Five points to Gryffindor," said Professor Druthers. "An excellent point. Revaleo Resistente is an easier spell to cast however, and we will be beginning with it today. Wands out, everyone."

Harry sat down, his mind again on the note in his pocket. He had found it on his bedside table that morning.

_Greetings,_

_I saw your performance last night, and I must say that I respect people who stand by and protect their friends. I must start out with an apology, for I cannot support you openly. You will one day learn to appreciate the friend that no one knows you have. I had never intended to become involved in the scandal that seems determined to follow you for whatever bizarre reason, but you are in clear need of competent support. That the professors have not put this whole business to rest is a travesty, though I can't say I'm surprised by the ignorance of the student population. _

_If they had not been moved to violence, I would tell you to ignore the student body as a whole. Before, they were not worth your time, but now they are a threat. Remember that even an ant can be mighty when it is part of a swarm. Keep what friends you have close, if friends they still are, and remain unseen when possible. Never forget that anyone around you could be against you in secret. Even if they smile to your face, they may be getting ready to stab you in the back._

_I should not need to tell you that the skills you are learning in Defense Against the Dark Arts are of the utmost import. Unfortunately, you will have to supplement your learning, as they teach second years little of great value (upper years are not so much better off). Defense for the Young Wizard by Kendra Childe is decent supplemental reading found in the school Library. Also, Somnium is not a spell they teach in conjunction with self-defense, but it is easily cast by an inexperienced wizard, and slows an opponent in one hit, and renders them asleep with a second. They typically wake when they fall, but you can easily hit them again when they are on the ground. Even having someone to watch your back can not make up for having the power and security that true knowledge of magic will bring you._

_ From,_

_ Your Friend in Secret_

_P.S. Supplement this weeks DADA readings with Ostenderme Resistentium. It's harder, but superior to Revaleo Resistente. I'm sure you'll see why. It's in chapter twelve of your friend's twin__brother's__DADA texts._

Something about the note left Harry uneasy, though he couldn't pinpoint what. The author was awfully disdainful of the student body, but then, so was Harry. At this point though, he wasn't willing to sneer at any help offered to him. Harry already knew the Somnium spell, though he had yet to successfully cast it on himself, but he had never thought to use it in a fight. It sounded like something that could work.

Towards the end of the class, Professor Druthers told them their homework assignment.

"You'll be exercising your imaginations tonight. In addition to notes on chapter seven, I want a foot of parchment putting yourself in the perspective of a dark wizard by the next class. I want you to plot your idea of the perfect crime. Class after next we'll discover if any of you have realistic beliefs about dark wizards, and we'll discuss ways to defend yourselves against the best of your ideas."

Harry perked up. That sounded like a fairly easy assignment, and interesting to boot. He had a pretty good imagination, especially when it came to worst-case scenarios. It sounded like an easy-A. He wished that Hermione was awake; she would know all of the specific potions and spells that would make getting away with murder easy.

Although when Harry thought about it, getting away with murder had one tried and true method: Step one, become a dark lord. Step two, do whatever you want. Step three, beware the power of love. After all, wouldn't Voldemort still be around killing whoever he wanted to if he had never fallen prey to Harry's mum's sacrificial magic? Everyone made out like only Dumbledore had ever so much as slowed him down.

As Professor Druthers escorted the class back to Gryffindor tower, Harry fell back a little and Ron matched his pace.

"Sneak out with me later?" asked Harry, feeling a little awkward.

"Why?" asked Ron.

"I just want to get away for a while. I'd go alone, but..."

"'Kay, said Ron. "Got your cloak handy?"

"You think I could go on my own?" asked Harry.

"Don't be dense, we both still fit under there."

"Oh, right," said Harry, disappointed. He did want to be alone.

"What do you usually do, anyway?"

Harry shrugged. "Just wander, mostly."

"Sounds dull," said Ron.

"You don't have to come," said Harry.

"I told you not to be dense."

Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. They went up to the dorm as soon as they were back to Gryffindor tower. They threw on Harry's invisibility cloak before carefully maneuvering down the stairs together. Down in the common room, they waited until Professor Sprout escorted the first years in from their Herbology lesson, and snuck out after the last student had come in through the portrait hole. Fortunately, they were well practiced at sneaking around, and no one noticed their exit. Still, they waited for Professor Sprout to make her way down the hall before they left in the opposite direction.

"So this is it?" whispered Ron, after a few minutes.

"Pretty much," whispered Harry.

"Huh," was Ron's quiet response.

They walked on in silence. It was a distinctly different experience from Harry's usual wanders, as sharing the cloak meant that they had to walk shoulder to shoulder, in relative concert. Eventually though, his stride found a lulling rhythm, and his feet led him through the castle as they wished. Ron followed dutifully at his side. Eventually, they found themselves at the top of the astronomy tower. Harry stepped out from the cloak and rested his forearms on the crenulations.

In mid May, the weather had been warming up, but up on the astronomy tower Harry felt a cool breeze playing across his skin. The snow had melted long ago, but out in the distance, Harry could see white capped mountain peaks. As per usual he looked down, trying to gage the distance to the ground. Ron sat down next to him, his back to the outer wall, the invisibility cloak pooled in his lap. For a long time, they remained in silence. The sun had traveled it's own length in the sky by the time Harry sat down next to Ron.

"Want a chocolate frog?" asked Ron, pulling a couple from his pockets.

"Yeah," said Harry, blinking in surprise. "where'd you get them?"

"Grabbed them before we put on the invisibility cloak," said Ron.

"I mean, I didn't think you had any left," said Harry.

"I didn't. But I had Hermione's notes from the day she was attacked, and Neville gave me a couple so he could copy them," said Ron mater of factly.

"Oh," said Harry. "That didn't seem at all wrong to you?"

"Why should it?" asked Ron. "She would have let him anyway, and now we have chocolate frogs. Look, I got Celestina Warbeck. I can't believe they gave her a card. None of the Weird Sisters have."

Harry checked his own. "Bertie Bott, you have him?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "And you really should start your own collection."

Harry shrugged. "I have a few," he said.

"Having a few isn't a collection," said Ron. "I mean, I have almost all of them. If I ever get Agrippa, I'll be able to sell them all for a bunch some day."

"Wait, that's the point of collecting, just to sell them?"

"Well yeah," said Ron, "eventually."

"But what about the people who buy them?" asked Harry.

"Nutters, I guess," said Ron.

"Oh, and what about people who plaster their bedrooms orange with Cannons merchandise?"

"That's loyalty," said Ron, without missing a beat. "Now the Wasps fans, they're the nutters. Or should I say 'headers', like our dear friend Bailey calls them?"

"Is that what he called me?" asked Harry.

"Yeah," said Ron with a laugh.

"I don't think I'll ever be using that one," said Harry, "I'll stick with nutter?"

"Oh, and who do you think you'll be calling a nutter?"

"Well, I've already implied that you're one."

"I haven't forgotten that."

"The twins are pretty nutty," said Harry.

"True," Ron agreed.

"And I'm not sure if Percy actually sees the world around him the same way a sane person does."

"You need to be careful there, or I'll think you think that all Weasleys are crazy."

"Nah," said Harry, "I mean Ginny seems sane. Probably. But you know what they say, it's always the quiet ones..."

"Pft," said Ron. "You could be right though, Ginny may well be the only sane person in my family. Not counting myself, of course."

"Jury's still out on you," said Harry.

Harry popped the last piece of his frog into his mouth, and Ron, who still had a half of his, shoved the whole thing into his own. They sat chewing their chocolate quietly for a moment.

"Do you think it's my fault?" asked Harry after he had swallowed. "Would everyone still suspect me if I wasn't so..." Harry searched for a good word. "Moody?"

"I wouldn't say you've been moody," said Ron after he swallowed his chocolate.

Harry gave his friend a blank stare.

"Alright," said Ron, "You've kind of been a grumpy git, but everyone else is being an idiot."

"I've really been a grumpy git?" asked Harry.

"Well," said Ron, awkwardly, "kinda. Yeah. It doesn't help that you do stupid stuff that could get you killed."

"I don't," said Harry.

"Yeah, you kind of do," Ron said, almost apologetically. "And it kind of freaks me and Hermione out."

Harry huffed and turned his head to face forward, towards the door that led stairwell.

"I'm not trying..." he started. "I- Could you just promise, that you'll never be like them?"

"Who?" asked Ron.

"The others," said Harry tightly, "everyone else. One day I'm a celebrity, and the next I'm a psychopath. I couldn't stand it if you or Hermione ever saw me like that. I couldn't..."

"Harry," said Ron uncomfortably, "I keep telling you not to be dense."

Harry sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Why do you believe in me? I don't feel like I'm the guy I was last year. I don't think I'll ever be again. How do you know I haven't changed into someone you don't know?"

Their shoulders touching, Harry could feel Ron shrug next to him. "I know you," he said. "And I know that you're not a psychopath."

Harry turned back to look at him. Ron meanwhile was looking at his feet. Harry turned back to the stairwell door.

"Thanks," he said finally.

"Yeah," said Ron, "and anyway, I promise not to be an idiot about you."

Harry nodded, though Ron couldn't see it. An owl hooted in the distance, breaking the silence.

"You know," said Harry after a while, "Hermione wouldn't have called me a 'grumpy git'."

"Yeah well, if you don't want to be called one, you should have waited until she was awake, and had this conversation with her."

"Fair enough," said Harry.

!

_The best way to commit the perfect murder, is to get someone else to do it for you. Someone who doesn't know who you are. You'll need a lot of regular spells, I should think, for basic trouble shooting, but it all comes down to two spells and a potion. Respectively, they are the Imperius curse, the Memory Charm, and Polyjuice Potion._

Harry had gotten some help from his 'Friend in Secret'. The mysterious helper had left Harry another note that alluded to the assignment. He hadn't spelled things out, but Harry had read between the lines. The note had told him to beware of the potential of the effects of the Imperious, the Memory Charm, and Polyjuice potion. Harry had been shocked to realize what powerful combinations that they could create. Really, he had realized, you could get away with anything with liberal application.

_The key to the perfect murder is not being the one to commit it. You also can't be related to the person who does. Pick someone at random. Approach them invisibly, or under the Polyjuice Potion. Put them under the Imperious Curse. Make them take the Polyjuice Potion for extra security. The person they turn into should have no relation to you or him. Then send them to commit your crime. The situation will of course determine what steps they have to go through to commit the crime and get away. Make sure your patsy is smart enough to get the job done, but not clever enough to foil you. When they return to you, you memory charm them of the whole thing, and disappear. Then you memory charm yourself, so you can't ever give yourself away if someone tries to get you to talk._

Wait, Harry thought, could you memory charm yourself? He bet that Hermione would know. He was sorry that he'd left the book about it back in the library. With all the rules about going out of the common room, he wouldn't be able to return to the library until tomorrow. He didn't imagine Ron would want to sneak out just to go to the library. At least it wasn't due until Friday. Harry was pretty sure that he was going to ace it. He needed to make it longer though.

_Also, if you were really good at magic, there's a spell that can implant fake memories in a person. The name of it's in the restricted section, and I wasn't allowed to see the book it was in. But the book that mentioned it said that it could make people believe things that aren't true. So, you could memory charm your patsy to think he wanted to do it all along. Then you could let him be caught. It would be easier to kill someone if you don't worry about getting caught. Then the patsy could confess to the whole thing, and the case would be closed. You would still have to memory charm yourself, just in case, but now you're even safer. Also, you would have to memory charm the patsy of having been cursed by you before he leaves._

Harry was proud of himself for finding the fake memory charm on his own. It had been mentioned in the same chapter about the memory charm. If Professor Druthers wasn't satisfied with this, Harry would eat his hat.

!

Ron felt like smacking himself on the head repeatedly with his cauldron, or maybe he should be smacking Harry. Of all the times for Harry to do really well in a class, why did he have to do it in a way that made him look like a psychopath. Harry didn't seem to see what was wrong with his essay though.

"Look, I just did what he assigned us. It's not my fault that I was better at it than everyone else."

"You're the only person who assumed that you had to kill a guy," Ron whispered, a little louder than a whisper should be, back to Harry as they made their way back to the common room.

Seamus had plotted how to smuggle contraband into Hogwarts, though the professor had shot down most of his ideas. Lavender had plotted how to rob a jewelry store. Neville had actually plotted a decent con-artist scam. Ron's plot had been to sabotage a quidditch team.

There had been mouths agape when Professor Druthers had read Harry's murder instructions. Parvati, who was sitting to the side of Harry, had inched her seat away from him. Neville had looked positively green. The professor, on the other hand, had quizzed Harry on some aspects of his assignment and given him full marks.

"Yeah, well that's kind of what I have to live with these days," Harry whispered back.

"I get that," said Ron. "I don't get why you have to be so good at plotting it out."

"How can you be safe unless you know what the worst that can happen is?" asked Harry, clearly frustrated with the whole thing.

"Fine, it was all very normal to know how to write that essay. But that doesn't mean you should have written it down and turned it in."

"Yeah, well," said Harry, finally starting to look a bit abashed. "I kind of forgot that the whole class would be hearing about it."

"Well don't bloody forget about things like that." Ron sighed. "And you should watch how you are with the professors too."

Harry looked at him quizzically. "The professors don't suspect me."

"Most of the professors don't suspect you," said Ron. "Snape'll chuck you out with any excuse. Unless they've actually said it, we don't know how any of them think about you." Ron knew that he should bring up Hermione's theory, that Professor Druthers actively suspected Harry, but he knew that Harry looked up to the man in a way. Besides, the man hadn't ever done anything that smacked of suspicion towards Harry, aside from picking Harry in class all the time.

Harry huffed and looked at his feet. Then he nearly tripped, before twisting around to look at the ground he had just passed.

Ron turned to look himself, before stepping back as a quiver of fear ran through his gut. A line of spiders ran along the floor, marching towards an open window. Ron did not like spiders.

As Ron stared, Harry turned back, snagging Ron's arm to draw him back towards the rest of the Gryffindors trekking up to the dorm. Ron's feet started moving before his mind did. When he could put a cogent thought together, he blurted it out.

"No."

"What?" asked Harry.

"No, we are not following the spiders, or whatever it was Hagrid said to do." There were times Ron dreamed of being able to have a conversation where he didn't have to worry about eavesdroppers.

"Hagrid knew something," said Harry. "You know he did. He may as well have said that all we ever wanted to know about the Chamber of Secrets was at the end of a line of spiders."

"Look, I can't handle spiders, okay?"

"What?"

"I really can't. It's all Fred's fault, but I don't do spiders. If Slytherin's monster is a spider, I'm walking away." It may have been accidental magic on Fred's part, but he had laughed too hard for Ron not to blame him.

"Oh," said Harry, looking very troubled. "I guess, I'll have to go without you."

"No you don't," said Ron angrily. "You don't have to do anything."

"Professor Dumbledore's gone, Ron. He was our best hope of figuring everything out. I mean, after Hermione was attacked. You know someone's going to die in this, eventually. I want to stop that. I also don't want to get in trouble for it. So that's it, I don't know what else to do."

"No," said Ron. "This is just another excuse to do something that could get you killed. The Forbidden Forest is forbidden for a reason."

"The Forbidden Forest?" asked Harry. "How do you know they're going to the Forbidden Forest?"

Ron could have kicked himself. "Because I saw them, alright, when we were in Herbology a couple days ago."

"You saw, and you didn't tell me?" asked Harry angrily.

"Of course I didn't tell you, I knew you'd race to see if the Forbidden Forest was enough of a near death experience for your liking."

"For the last time, I'm not trying to get myself killed," Harry fumed.

"Yeah, well you could have fooled me."

They walked on in silence for a few seconds.

"I'll take my broom then, if it'll make you feel better. I'll be able to stay above the spiders, or fly away from anything else."

It took Ron a while to respond, so many conflicting thoughts and feelings racing through him.

"We'll go tonight," he said, "after curfew."

They didn't talk the rest of the way to the tower.

!

When they had set off on their expedition, Harry had been trying not to be angry with Ron for his silence. It didn't help that he was angry a lot of the time anyway. He hadn't known what it was that made him angry this time though. That Ron might have stayed quiet because of the spiders, or because he thought that Harry would do something stupid in the Forbidden Forest.

They hadn't said much to each other outside of plotting the adventure and acting it out. The silence had probably been for the best as they had glided over the forest floor, following the spiders by wand light. There were too many predators in the forest for a person to be distracted by a conversation.

Getting Ron a broom had been easier than they had expected, as no one had bothered to lock the shed that held the school brooms. Harry had only wished that they had taken the time to look for a good one, as the one they had gotten had kept quaking when he turned.

The trail of spiders that they had followed had met up with many others. What had once been a trickle was now a river of spiders of all sizes. Ron had spent the journey shivering on his broomstick, and it wasn't from the cold. It had also been hard to be angry at Ron because he had come, in spite of being clearly terrified. And now, they were probably going to die.

Harry had thought that his conversation with Voldemort the year before had been surreal, but it had nothing on talking to a giant and ancient spider. They had learned a lot, after being abducted to the spider's home by a couple of other giant spiders. Now they were surrounded, and Harry wasn't even sure if what they had learned was of any use. They hadn't thought that Hagrid was the heir of Slytherin in the first place.

Ron had lost his broomstick in their abduction, but Harry had kept a death grip on his own.

"Get on!" Harry shouted as the spiders began to close in. He mounted the broom, letting his feet rise up off the ground as he positioned himself next to Ron. The spiders were mere feet away from them at this point. Whatever grip Ron's terror had over him broke as Ron jerkily climbed onto Harry's broom. Harry soared up, feeling pinchers sink into the hem of his robe before cutting clean through.

The plant matter that covered the spider's hollow was so dense that Harry could see no way through it. There was only the entrance that they had been carried through. Unfortunately, there was an acromantula guarding the spot.

"Shine your light on it!" shouted Harry as he flew right at it. Ron's wand shone brighter than Harry had ever seen it, causing the spider to shift agitatedly, as Harry pulled out his own wand.

"Somnium!" he cried out. Even spiders slept. This one didn't though when Harry's spell hit it, but it did slow down. Harry and Ron were both screaming as they rocketed past the spider and through the entrance tunnel. Ron kept screaming once they were clear, until they finally rose up above the forest canopy.

Ron's hold on Harry was painful, but Harry wasn't going to complain. Ron had done what he needed to when it had mattered. If he needed to squeeze half the air out of Harry now, then Harry didn't have a right to complain.

Crossing the Forbidden Forest was a lot easier when you flew over it. It was only a couple of minutes before they reached the school. Harry flew low over the ground until he reached the castle proper. Once at the castle, he skimmed up the side, doing his best to stay out of sight. Finally, he reached the window to the second year Gryffindor boy's bathroom. At this time of the night, no one should be inside. Harry flew through and landed by one of the sinks.

"You okay?" he asked Ron.

"I'm going to bed," said Ron, his voice high pitched and louder than it should have been.

"Okay," said Harry anxiously. "I'll see you in the morning."

Ron walked out to the dorm without another word.

There was no way Harry was about to get any sleep, so he stashed his broom in a corner before he started taking off his clothes, intending to take a shower. _What have we learned?_ he asked himself. They had learned that Hagrid had not opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago, but they hadn't really suspected him in the first place. Whoever had died back then had been a girl in a bathroom. What was that worth? He had nearly gotten Ron killed. Tempting fate wasn't nearly as fun when you were tempting it with someone else's life. Harry was done being angry with Ron for his silence, he had been trying to protect Harry. But Harry hadn't even really thought about Ron's safety. Ron had time and again proven himself a true friend to Harry, and Harry had once more put Ron's life in danger. A vision of Ron falling from his stone horse the year prior flashed through Harry's head and Harry knew that he would never have been able to forgive himself if Ron had been hurt in the Forbidden Forest. Harry morosely wondered what Ron got out of their friendship.

Harry stepped into the warm spray of the shower, letting it pelt the forest grime on his face. Maybe they ought to have just waited for Hermione to wake up. Madam Pomfrey was expecting it some time before the end of the month. Harry needed for her to wake up, and to have an answer for everything. This couldn't go on. He certainly wasn't going to risk anyone else's life trying to solve the mystery.

!

_I hope these past two weeks of peace have helped you recuperate your spirits, as I hope you learned a lesson on how to deal with the threat that other wizards are to you. You were attacked because in their small minded stupidity, they feared you to be the Heir of Slytherin. They feared what the Heir might do to them. But they did not fear you. The Heir of Slytherin was leaving victims all over the castle, but little Harry Potter could be attacked with impunity they thought. So they hurt you; they were prepared to hurt you again, but you took charge. You made them see you as a powerful wizard, you made them fear Harry Potter, and now you are safe. The power they see in you is what has kept you safe and, even had you not sent her off, would have kept your owl safe. All you had to do was show it to them. Of course not all of the threats in your life come from school children. You must not become complacent. True security comes from honing your skill, knowledge, and power over many years. If you have finished Defense for the Young Wizard, and I trust that you are sensible enough to have done so by now, then I suggest you move on to Defense from the Indefensible, by Vladimir Markov. It has some topics that your teachers wouldn't want you being exposed to, they see children as too weak to deal with some of the harsher truths in this world, but I do believe that forewarned is forearmed, and you, I am quite sure, can handle these topics._

_ From,_

_ Your Friend in Secret_

It had been two weeks since Harry had been attacked, and this was the sixth letter he had received from the mysterious sender. He had in fact finished Defense for the Young Wizard a few days ago, and he had found it to have a lot more practical information than what he was learning in class.

He had gotten a dirty look from Madame Pince when he had checked out Defense from the Indefensible as he had left the library that afternoon. He had found himself feeling slightly sick after thumbing through it as he had walked up to Madame Pince's desk though. Most of what they had been learning to defend themselves from in class had been practical attack spells. It was clear from the book though, that the wizarding world had produced a plethora of spells designed solely to be sadistic.

As he walked back to the common room with the rest of the students being escorted, Harry thought more about the most recent letter. Harry had been completely unprepared for that attack, and he had in fact gotten off relatively unscathed. None of his attackers had done anything truly horrible to him. Harry doubted that he would always be so lucky. His anonymous pen pal was right, true security came from being prepared. Harry wondered though if his attackers had truly been cowed, or if another attack from the Heir of Slytherin would result in another attack on him, and what they would do since their original attack had done nothing to get rid of Harry. Harry eyed the students around him, still wondering who among them had been involved in the attack; who had gone into his room, and stood on his bed to hang Hedwig in effigy.

!

"Assignments up to the front. Mr. Weller, if you would bring them to me, please."

Minerva surveyed her sixth-year NEWT class as they shuffled about getting all of the their parchments to Mr. Weller. Weller stacked them all neatly before getting up and walking to her desk.

"Here professor," he said, holding them out, and she accepted them from him. Weller pulled his hand back, but Minerva's was faster. Her strong grip on his wrist startled him, and he looked at her in surprise.

"What an odd scar you have on your hand, Mr. Weller," she said. "Why, it almost looks like tooth marks."

Weller's eyes grew wide with fear.

!

Sometimes, Harry couldn't believe that they still had to do homework with everything else going on. Sure, he'd promised himself to learn as much magic as he could, but it still seemed wrong to be working on an essay on the properties of ashwinder eggs. Of course, his animosity towards Snape could have had something to do with that.

"Harry, I don't get this, is it dandelion seeds or dandelion juice that neutralizes the burning properties of the eggs?" asked Neville.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but realized he didn't have one. "It's times like this I miss Hermione twice as much," he muttered instead. "Yeah, the book wasn't clear. I just put dandelion down."

"Yeah," said Ron, "but just watch. If we all put down dandelion, I bet you a sickle that you'll be the one he docks points from."

"Not taking that bet," said Harry darkly.

"Harry's not the only one he hates," said Neville, "I really need to figure this out."

"We'll figure it out," said Ron. "Maybe Dean or Seamus will know."

The best part about being a pariah was that you could get the best spots in the common room to do your homework in. They had a spot by one of the larger fireplaces with the good chairs. With Harry not going anywhere alone recently, and people taking his threat seriously, Harry was mostly being left in peace for a change. So he was surprised when a shadow fell over his parchment.

"Ron, Harry, I'm to take you to the infirmary," said Percy.

"What?" asked Harry. "Why? Is Hermione awake?"

"I don't know anything about it," said Percy. "I just got word from Professor McGonagall to take you."

"I'll take your things back to the dorm," said Neville.

"Thanks, Neville," said Ron.

"Thanks," said Harry.

They made their way after Percy.

"You really don't know anything?" asked Ron.

"I don't," said Percy. "I already said I didn't."

"Well, I thought maybe you just didn't want to say anything in front of the rest of the common room."

"I got a letter from Professor McGonagall to collect you and take you there, so that's what I did."

"But there's nothing else it could be, right?" asked Harry. "Why else would they ask for us there, unless Hermione was awake."

"Maybe there's been another attack," said Ron. "Maybe they want you away from the rest of the students so that nothing happens to you again."

"Then why'd they call you too?" asked Harry.

"Well you need someone there to keep you company."

"Well if there's been another attack, I hope it's Snape. He probably would have given me a zero."

"And if it had been Professor Snape, and someone overheard a comment like that?" asked Percy with a touch of exasperation. "Or if someone heard it, and then Professor Snape were next? That's likely why Fletchley was targeted."

"Yeah, I figured that," said Harry.

"Well then you should have learned not to say things like that," said Percy.

"Well it's not like things could get any worse," said Harry.

Percy gave him a sardonic look.

"Fine," Harry conceded.

"I wish Snape were next," Ron muttered to him.

Harry suppressed a grin.

Finally, they made it to the infirmary. Professor McGonagall was waiting for them inside.

"Is it Hermione?" asked Ron at once. "Is she better?"

"Not yet, Mister Weasley," said Professor McGonagall. "Madam Pomfrey does expect her to wake, for a while at least, this evening. She believed that friendly faces would be beneficial for her when she wakes. Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey will not be available tonight, as she is overseeing the brewing of the restorative drought."

"The mandrakes are ready?" asked Percy in surprise.

"Very nearly so," said Professor McGonagall. "They will be harvested by midnight tonight. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape are preparing the beginning stages of the potion as we speak."

"It's a good thing we have such a talented potions master on the staff then," said Percy loftily. "Imagine if he weren't here."

Harry and Ron both rolled their eyes.

"Quite," said Professor McGonagall. "You may study in Madam Pomfrey's office if you need to," said Professor McGonagall, "but I need you to stay here Mr. Weasley. We cannot leave the hospital wing unattended. You know how to contact me if anyone comes to the hospital wing seeking help."

"You can count on me, Professor," said Percy, nearly bursting with pride.

"I'm certain that I can," said Professor McGonagall. "Now, that is not the only thing I needed to discuss. Harry," she said turning to him. "I have discovered the identity of one of your attackers."

Harry's eyes widened. "Who?" he asked breathlessly.

"Mr. Rojer Weller," said Professor McGonagall. "He is a sixth year Ravenclaw, and he is the one that you managed to bite. Whoever healed his hand did a poor job of it. That's how I was able to find him."

"What's going to happen?" asked Harry.

"That remains to be seen," said Professor McGonagall. "Suffice it to say, he will not be getting a mere slap on the wrist. And I do intend to discover his co-conspirators. I will let you know when I have more information, but right now, I must be off. Do behave yourselves."

With that, she left the infirmary.

"Right," said Percy. "I see they left a chess set by Hermione's bed, so I suppose you'll have something to do. I think I'll take up Professor McGonagall's offer to let me study in Madam Pomfrey's office. She has all of the good healing texts, and end of the year exams are coming up, after all."

Ron and Harry slouched over to the chess board that sat on the end table next to Hermione's curtained off bed.

"So, Weller, huh?" said Ron. "Is he the one with those big glasses?"

"I don't know," said Harry.

"What do you suppose they'll do to him?" asked Ron, as he pulled back the curtain around Hermione's bed a little.

"I don't know," said Harry.

"Well, I think it's only fair if you got to punch him in the face," said Ron. "You should get some payback."

Harry felt strangely empty inside. He had thought he would feel elated when his attackers were unmasked, but he didn't feel anything at all. There was only the uncertainty of what would happen next.

He and Ron started to play chess; Harry still having little hope of winning. Ron was getting good at sensing when Harry didn't want to talk about something, because he had changed the subject to Quidditch.

"And it was zip to a hundred and thirty, when Blatcher caught the snitch. You should have seen my face, because it came out of nowhere. Everyone was shocked. Blatcher probably most of all, because he'd never caught the snitch during a league game before that. It was the Cannons first win that season."

Harry gave Ron a skeptical look. "How many wins did they have the rest of the season?"

"That's not important, Harry-" Ron was interrupted.

"It's parseltongue!" Hermione interjected weakly.

"Hermione!" cried Harry and Ron together. They both rushed to kneel by her bedside.

"Harry," said Hermione, her voice still weak. "You're a parseltongue. Remember the snake at Dudley's birthday. That's what you're hearing that no one else does. The monster is a Basilisk. It's gaze kills, but maybe no one saw it directly"

Hermione's voice may have been faint, but it certainly seemed as though she had been trying to say all of this for a month, for she was speaking very quickly.

"And pipes, that's how it's been traveling around. Tell Professor Dumbledore. It's going to kill someone eventually."

"Merlin, 'Mione," said Ron, "slow down a minute. You've been asleep for like, a month."

"I can't wait, I'm going to fall asleep again. Have you found anything out?" she asked.

"Two things," said Harry. "Hagrid was wrongfully accused of opening the Chamber fifty years ago, and that the girl who died, died in a bathroom."

Hermione moaned. She may have had trouble staying awake, but her mind was still sharp. "Stupid. The only ghost of a student in the castle, and I never checked. Moaning Myrtle. She haunts the second floor girls lavatory." She groaned again.

"Hermione, what did you mean that I'm a parseltongue?" asked Harry.

But Hermione couldn't answer; she was unconscious once more.

"Darn it," said Harry. He turned to Ron. "What do you think she meant? Parseltongue?"

Ron looked at him nervously. "Harry, you can't tell anyone about that."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"I mean it, you can't tell anyone. There won't be a person left in the castle who wouldn't think you were the Heir of Slytherin."

"What are you talking about?" asked Harry.

"If she's right, and well, she usually is, you can talk to snakes," said Ron, rubbing the back of his neck.

"And that's a bad thing?" asked Harry.

"Yes!" said Ron. "Every parseltongue I can think of was a dark wizard. Slytherin was a parseltongue. So was You-Know-Who! That's all anyone's going to think if they hear about it."

Harry stilled. Voldemort had been a Parseltongue? That couldn't be a coincidence.

"How does someone become a parseltongue?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Ron. "I think you're born with it."

"Okay," said Harry, still troubled. Was it something inherited then? If so, then the question was, had he inherited it from his parents, or from Voldemort. Did magical talents just appear spontaneously?

"Harry, I mean it, don't tell anyone."

"I'll tell Dumbledore," said Harry. "When he gets back. In the meantime, we'll just tell Professor McGonagall that the monster is a Basilisk."

"Right," said Ron. "But blimey."

"Come on," said Harry, "maybe Percy will take us to Professor McGonagall."

But just then, the Professor's voice echoed through the room.

"All students, return to your dormitories. All staff, report to to the teacher's lounge."

"Come on," said Ron, "we can go to the teacher's lounge."

"No," said Percy, stepping out of Madam Pomfrey's office. "You'll need to go to the common room, like she said. Professor McGonagall should be in to check on you soon enough, and you can talk to her then if you really need to. But I hope you're not going to waste her time."

"We're not going to waste her time," said Harry. "Hermione just woke up. We need to tell Professor McGonagall."

"Well, you'll be able to soon. But right now, it's my job to get you to safety. I can't leave the infirmary to escort you, so you'll have to use Madam Pomfrey's floo."

"But-" started Ron.

"No buts," said Percy. "Come on, now. I mean it."

"You're sure she'll come to check on us?" asked Harry.

"I'm a prefect," said Percy, "of course I'm sure. She's our head of house. Now come in here." He stood aside from the door, motioning for them to come into Madam Pomfrey's office.

Grumbling, Harry and Ron went in, and stepped through the fireplace to the Gryffindor common room. They got some surprised looks when they arrived, as students practically never used the school's floo system. Harry hadn't even realized that the school had one until Percy had mentioned it.

"I bet they'll evacuate the school," said Ron. "Imagine, a Basilisk."

"I've never heard of them, what are they like?" asked Harry.

"I've only ever heard stories," said Ron, "I wasn't even sure if they were real. But they get really big. And like Hermione said, their look kills you."

"So, what? Collin only saw it through his camera, or something?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, and you know Justin's always cleaning his glasses. Maybe he saw it's reflection there."

"Yeah, maybe," said Harry.

"I'll bet Lockhart was looking at his teeth in the mirror, or something," said Ron.

"Or he saw it's reflection in the puddle on the floor," said Harry. "And wasn't that right by the second floor girls bathroom? But, hold on. Maybe a few of them got lucky, but all of them?"

"Do you think Hermione's wrong then?" asked Ron.

"No," said Harry. "But it's like we talked about. This whole thing's been dragged out. What if the reason no one's been killed is because the Heir has made sure that no one has been able to see its eyes directly. Maybe some odd charm, or a contraption on the snake's head."

"That would be crazy," said Ron. "But maybe."

They were getting a lot of looks by this time. It couldn't have helped that they had arrived at the common room via floo. But how could anyone think they had done anything, they'd been publicly summoned to Professor McGonagall.

"Hey," said Neville, who had approached them. "Did something happen with Hermione?"

"She woke up," said Ron.

"That's great," said Neville, grinning. "Is it true then, did she figure out anything?"

"Yeah," said Harry. He looked at Neville. "You probably don't want to know."

Neville grimaced. "Right then, I learned a long time ago to trust people when they said that."

Harry too could think of one conversation where he had learned more than he wanted to know.

A hush fell over the common room. Professor McGonagall had walked in.

"Mr. Weasley," she said in a very controlled voice. "Where are you brothers?"

"My brothers?" asked Ron. Harry looked at his friend in concern. "Percy's still in the infirmary, I don't know about Fred or George, they're probably in their dorm. Oh, that's probably where Ginny is as well."

"Have you seen her since you returned to the common room?"

"No," said Ron, worry growing in his voice. "What's going on?" He asked.

Professor McGonagall didn't answer. "Has anyone seen Ginny Weasley? Miss Faucett, please go check your dormitory, and come back promptly."

"What's happening?" asked one of the twins. They had both come down the stairs from their dorm.

Again, Professor McGonagall did not answer them. "Have either of you seen your sister this afternoon?" she asked.

"No," said the other twin, "but she's been with her classmates, hasn't she?"

"She's been gone," said one first year girl. Harry didn't know her name. "She's been gone for a couple of hours now."

"She isn't in our dorm," said the girl that Professor McGonagall had called 'Miss Faucett'.

"Professor!" cried Ron in alarm. "What's going on?"

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned, though for once not from anger. "We've had reason to believe, and it seems to be the case, that your sister has been taken into the Chamber of Secrets." Her voice nearly broke. "I will not mince words; we believe that she is dead."

A/N: Wow, so sorry for the long wait. Thank you, to any loyal readers still out there. I've been super busy with grad school though. I had wanted to get a chapter in during Spring break, but alas, it was not to be. Hopefully, I'll update more frequently now. Certainly, I'll try not to leave you waiting for the next chapter for long. As always, please review, and let me know what you think. Things are about to get interesting.


	12. 11 Victor

Victor

Professor McGonagall stayed only long enough to answer the most basic of questions, and to sic a prefect on the Weasley's to make sure they weren't bothered. She apologized, but she had a school to close. She left after assuring Ron and his brothers that their parents would be brought to the school, and Harry that he would still be taken care of.

There was a small part of Harry that knew he needed to tell the professor what they had learned about the monster, but it was suppressed by the state of numb shock that the news had put him in. He couldn't believe it. Death wasn't something that happened to nice girls like Ginny. It happened to grown-ups, and adventurers. Why would anyone hurt Ginny?

A hush had fallen over the common room when McGonagall was there, but it didn't take long to end.

"Are you all just going to sit there?" a fifth year boy demanded loudly. "The one who did it's standing right here!"

With a loud roar, Fred drew his wand on the boy as George fumbled to get his from his robe.

"YOU REALLY WANT TO MESS WITH US TODAY?" demanded Fred.

"Stupefy," shouted a voice from the other end of the common room. The fifth year boy went limp and slumped to the ground. Dazedly, Harry looked over and saw that it was Oliver Wood. "No one's going to mess with you Weasley," said Wood loudly. "Not if I have anything to say about it. You take care of yours, the team'll take care of you."

"That's right," said Angelina. "We have your back. You guys do what you need to do."

Through this all, George still hadn't managed to get his wand out, so upset was he. With Angelina's defense though, he stopped, his face crumpling. As one, he and Fred seemed to slump into each other.

"Come on guys," said Alicia. "Let's get you out of the common room."

The common room was once more silent. Harry glanced around dully. There were a number of mutinous faces, but no one else spoke up. He was keenly aware though, that there were more faces glaring at him than not.

Through everything, Ron had been unresponsive, neither moving nor speaking. Aware that the twins and Angelina were moving towards the boy's staircase, Harry grabbed Ron's hand and dragged him after them, doing his best not to make eye contact with anyone in the common room. Suddenly, a hand fell on his shoulder, Harry tensed with anticipation.

"Harry, you be careful," said Katie.

Harry nodded, as the lump in his throat prevented him from making a verbal reply. The second year dorm was closest, and that's where Alicia had left the twins. Harry pulled Ron into the room after Alicia stepped out.

"If you guys need anything," she said, "you let us know." She hesitated, clearly not knowing if there was anything else she was supposed to say or do. "Um, I'm really sorry," she said quickly before leaving. Harry closed the door. Ron, sitting on his bed, started crying.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, choking back his own tears. "I'm so sorry. It's all because of me, she was taken because of me."

"Of course it was because of you," said George hoarsely. He and Fred were pressed together on the side of Seamus's bed. "That doesn't mean it was your fault. Just shut up for right now."

Harry was breathing heavily, near hyperventilation. His back against the wall, he let himself sink to the floor and put his head between his knees. This wasn't right, none of this was right. _He _ was supposed to be dead. Ginny was supposed to be alive. If he had jumped from the Astronomy tower at the beginning of term, would any of this have happened? Why was any of this happening at all?

Harry realized that he was nearly pulling his hair out, and he jerkily released his fistfuls of hair and threw his arms to his sides.

The sound of the room was dominated by Harry's heavy breathing and Ron's sobs. The twins sat with their heads together, bearing intense expressions, but they were silent. Harry couldn't say how long they remained like this.

"How do they know she's dead?" asked George suddenly.

"McGonagall never said," Fred said just as quickly. "But they must have a way to monitor the students."

Harry raised his head to look at them. Ron stilled, but kept his head down.

"We gotta go," said Fred. As one, he and George stood and stalked out of the room, Fred throwing the door open, but stopping it just before it would have hit Harry. The door closed loudly behind them, and finally the room was silent.

For the first time, Ron and Harry looked each other in the eye.

"I'm sorry," Harry said again.

"What if she's still alive?" asked Ron.

"What?" asked Harry.

"It's like they said," said Ron. "The teacher's must have a way of knowing if the students are in the castle or not, but what if the Chamber isn't a part of the castle? Maybe Ginny's down there, but she's still alive. There's rituals, dark rituals you hear about in stories, that require a virgin sacrifice, and they take time! They might not have killed her yet."

"Yeah," said Harry, who wanted very much to believe that there was still hope. "Yeah, and they don't know what we know. Hermione might not have woken up yet."

"We have to go see McGonagall, come on," said Ron urgently.

The two of them nearly ran down the stairs, but came up short when they reached the common room. Most everyone was still down there, likely all talking about what had happened. As was becoming all too common, they all stopped talking when Harry and Ron reached the bottom of the stairs. Undaunted, they walked on into the room, through the sea of students until Oliver intercepted them just in front of the portrait hole.

"Has Percy come back from the infirmary?" asked Ron.

"Not yet," Oliver said mournfully, and Harry remembered that they were dorm mates. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"We have to go see Professor McGonagall," said Harry. "It's really important."

Oliver studied them for a moment. "Alright," he said. "Stay safe. We'll make sure no one follows you out."

"OY!" someone shouted, clearly wanting to start trouble. Harry ignored them, walking on to the portrait hole, trusting that Oliver and the girls would keep them safe. There were shouts behind them, but Harry and Ron got through without trouble.

They ran to Professor McGonagall's office, but no one answered when they knocked. Harry and Ron both called loudly through the door to no avail.

"Bollocks!" cried Ron ferociously.

"Come on," said Harry, "Professor Druthers's office isn't to far from here."

They ran again, down a flight of stairs and through two hallways before they made it to the professor's door. They both pounded on it.

"Professor," Harry called. "Professor, we need to talk to you."

The door opened very suddenly, and Harry and Ron took a reflexive step back.

"You aren't supposed to be here," said the Professor. "You're supposed to be in your common room."

"It's important, Professor. It's about the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione figured it out, and we need to tell some one."

"I see," said Professor Druthers very seriously.

"The monster's a Basilisk," said Harry. "It's traveling through pipes," he said. "Moaning Myrtle might know where the entrance is." Inspiration came to him suddenly. "One of the pipes in her bathroom might be an entrance!"

"I see," said Professor Druthers again. "You must think that I am a fool, boy."

"What?" asked Harry.

"No," said Ron, "Professor, it's true."

"You may have had an easy time lulling that fool Lockhart into a false sense of security, but did you really think you'd be able to do the same to an auror? Incarcerous!"

Harry hadn't even seen the wand in his hand, before he had ropes wrapped around his entire body. He toppled to the floor painfully. Harry tried to call out, but the ropes gagged him. What was going on? Harry had thought that Professor Druthers liked him.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" demanded Ron. "He's telling the truth.

Harry watched impotently as the professor planted a hand on Ron's chest and pressed him firmly into the wall. "Get your head out of the clouds Weasley. Your friend's been playing your loyalty, and now it's destroyed your family." He turned viciously back to Harry.

"You, I'll let the ministry handle." With a flick of his wand Harry floated into the air, and started moving ahead of the professor as the man began stalking down the hallway. Harry tried to shout at the man around the ropes in his mouth, but nothing intelligible came out. And so Harry realized, that the Professor hadn't been testing him all through the year because he was the Boy Who Lived, he had been testing a suspect. Shame and anger coursed through him. Who else would turn on him?

"Save it for someone who'll care, Potter. You won't get to tell me-"

With a loud thud, his speech cut off quite suddenly and the man thudded to the floor just a moment after Harry did. A second later, Ron's face hovered over Harry's and his friend helped work the ropes out of his mouth.

"What happened?" asked Harry, as Ron began using his penknife to cut the ropes that kept Harry bound.

"You know how I nocked the troll out last year?"

"Yeah," said Harry, an incredulous expression forming on his face.

"I know, who would have thought that would work twice." He stood up and kicked the man in the hip. "Git."

Harry twisted his head around to look at the professor. On the ground near his head lay one of the torches that usually lit the hallway.

"Hermione better be right, because I'm so getting expelled for that."

"Totally worth it," Harry breathed in near disbelief. "I can't believe he did that. _You_ were awesome." Finally, his arms were freed, and he could help Ron to free his legs.

"Do you think you're right?" asked Ron as he helped Harry to his feet. "Do you think the entrance is in the bathroom?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"What do we do?" he asked, and Harry could see the indecision in his face. Ron wanted to go and get her himself, but he had learned to be more cautious with Harry.

"The closest professor's office is halfway across the castle, and we don't know where any of them are," said Harry. "But we do know where the second floor girls bathroom is."

"Right," said Ron, nodding. "Right."

No more needed to be said. They ran to Moaning Myrtle's haunt. Reaching the door, there was the barest of hesitations as they both instinctively shied away from the placard saying 'Ladies'. Harry threw the door open, and they both walked in.

Both Ron and Harry cast their eyes about, as though there would be a sign saying, "Chamber of Secrets here," with an arrow pointing, but the bathroom seemed just like it's male analogue.

"Hello?" Harry called out.

"Boys?" came the reply, and the ghost of a girl just a little older than Harry and Ron came out of the nearest stall. "What are boys doing in here?"

"Please," said Harry, "it's really important, has anyone been here in the last few hours?"

Myrtle gazed at him appraisingly, looking for what, Harry didn't know.

"My sister's going to die if we don't find her," said Ron urgently.

"How insensitive," Myrtle said affronted. "As though anyone cared when I was killed." Tears began falling down her face.

"Wait," said Harry, with sudden inspiration, "how _did_ you die?"

Very suddenly, Myrtle was only a couple centimeters from his face. Harry's eyes widened, but he didn't step back.

"You want to know how I died?" asked Myrtle very softly. There was a keen interest in her eyes.

"Yes, please," said Harry.

"It was in this very bathroom," said Myrtle, almost conspiratorially. "Just outside that stall. I was in here crying because Olive Hornby had been mean to me, though she did come to regret it." She smiled wickedly. "Suddenly I heard a boy enter, and he started speaking a funny language. It was all very strange. I stuck my head out to tell him to go away! But then..."

"Yes?" asked Harry breathlessly.

"Well, I died," said Myrtle thoughtfully.

"How?" asked Harry.

"I'm not really sure. I just saw these great big yellow eyes, and that was it, I was dead."

"Where were they?" asked Ron. "The boy and the eyes."

"I never saw the boy," said Myrtle. "But the eyes were over there." She pointed over to the sink fixtures."

"Okay," said Harry. "And have you seen anyone in here today?"

"I didn't _see _anyone," said Myrtle. "But I did hear someone come in. They said some funny words too, but they never left through the door."

"You were right," said Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry, "but we still need to figure out how to get in."

"It's got to be something about those sinks," said Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry, and they moved off to begin examining the sinks.

"Hold on," said Myrtle, "are you boys just going to ignore me?"

"Sorry," said Ron. "We've got more important things to do."

"Well that's just typical," Myrtle cried, and then wailed as she sailed into one of the toilets.

"Glad I don't have to use this bathroom," said Ron, as he examined one of the sinks.

"Yeah," said Harry.

"What are we even looking for," asked Ron.

"I don't know," said Harry. "I hope we'll know it when we see it."

"It can't be too obvious," said Ron.

"Yeah, but who looks for the Chamber of Secrets in a girls bathroom anyway?" asked Harry. "Maybe Slytherin could afford to be a little obvious at this point."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Hold on! Here look, there's a snake on this nob."

Harry moved in close to look at it. There was indeed a snake engraved on one of the nobs on the sink Ron had been inspecting, in the place of the letter 'H' for hot.

"What do we do with it?" he asked, prodding it with his wand, to no effect.

"She said they said funny words to it," said Ron.

"Right," said Harry. "So, Parseltongue, then."

"I guess."

"But I don't know how," said Harry.

"Yeah, but . . ." Ron paused. "I don't know, just try."

"Okay," said Harry. "Okay, um." He looked at the snake and opened his mouth. Not a sound came out.

"Look," he said, "I really don't know what I'm doing here."

"Just tell it to open."

"Open," said Harry. He looked at Ron. "Was that another language."

"No," said Ron.

"I don't know, Ron, I really don't."

"Ginny's counting on us, wherever that language is, you need to muster it up. Just look at the snake, calm down, focus, and try again."

For someone trying to get him to calm down, Ron wasn't talking very calmly. Still, Harry took a deep breath, and did his best to stop freaking out. He gazed intently at the snake, noticing the flicker of the candle light playing with it, making it look as though it were moving. He closed his eyes, and took another deep breath. He looked at the flickering snake.

"Open," he said again, and slumped, closing his eyes. "Ron this isn't going to work."

"It did work," said Ron, "look!"

Harry looked with wide eyed astonishment as the sinks began rearranging themselves, revealing a large hole in the ground, a tunnel that led, presumably, to the Chamber of Secrets.

"I didn't think I did anything different," said Harry.

"You were hissing, mate. It was weird, but it worked."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Okay, I'll go first, and let you know if it's safe. If you don't hear back from me, go get the professors, okay?"

"Why are you going first?" asked Ron.

"Because I owe it to you," said Harry. "Whether it's my fault or not, it's because of me, so I'm going first, and I'm not taking no for an answer." He sat down at the edge of the tunnel, his feet dangling over. "If you don't hear back from me," he said, "thank you for being my friend. Meeting you was the best thing I ever did."

"Harry-"

"I mean it," said Harry.

"Potter!" They were interrupted suddenly by the opening of the bathroom door. It was Professor Druthers.

Ron reacted instantly. His foot lashed out, and kicked Harry into the tunnel. As Harry fell, he heard Ron call out. "I'll hold him off! You get Gi-" Ron's voice was cut off suddenly. Whether Harry had gotten too far away from him, or Ron had been attacked by the professor, Harry didn't know, as he fell through the tunnel, which acted as a slide.

It was more intense than diving on his broomstick, for certain. Faster and faster Harry went, until he came shooting out the other end. He rolled on the ground, bleeding off speed until he came to a stop. Groaning, Harry picked himself up and gazed about his surroundings, as he rubbed the spot on his back where Ron had kicked him. It was dark. He was clearly under the school, in a much larger tunnel than the chute he had gone down. He pulled out his wand and lit it.

There were skeletons all about, though fortunately none of them human. Harry recognized a number of rat skeletons. Harry turned his gaze to the chute that had brought him, hoping against hope that Ron would soon come. But nothing happened, and Harry realized that it was for the best. He was the one that was condemned to die, he was the one who was targeted by the Heir of Slytherin. He alone should be the one to risk his life. He would die, if he had to, to bring Ginny back, he knew he would. There was no need for anyone else to be a part of that. Ron certainly shouldn't have to see him die, if it came to it.

Harry walked purposefully down the tunnel until he came to a great door, covered in stone snakes. Harry remembered how the flicker of light had made the snake in the bathroom seem real. The snakes covering this door seemed so real, he didn't need any illusions to pretend.

Staring intently at them, Harry commanded them to open. With a whirring of gears and the clicking of switches, the snakes moved about until the door unlatched and began to swing open. Harry walked through, belatedly remembering to keep his eyes down, lest he stare into the basilisk's eyes.

The door opened into a grand chamber. Harry saw rows of columns, bearing more stone serpents. There was water everywhere, and the whole room bore an eerie green hue, light coming from meagre torches throughout the chamber. Harry crept in, stepping carefully so he wouldn't splash the water, making his way from column to column. He avoided looking at the chamber proper, not wanting to catch sight of the beast's eyes. Finally, he reached the end of the room, and saw a massive statue against the back wall, featuring a rather ugly wizard. At it's feet, lay Ginny.

Harry stalked carefully towards her, his wand in hand. A mantra ran through his head. 'Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead.'

Suddenly a boy stepped out from around the side of the statue. He was tall and rather good looking, and he looked down at Harry with a look of wonder on his face.

!

"I'll hold him off!" Ron cried, running at the professor. "You get Gi-" Ron cut off as he had to dive out of the way of a spell the professor shot at him.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" the professor asked furiously.

"Do you?" asked Ron from the ground.

"Incarcerous," barked the professor, and Ron found himself just as helpless as Harry had been.

"When that boy gets back up," said the professor, waving his wand at the hole in the floor, "he'll find that he can't get out until someone lets him out. And by that point, there will be aurors waiting for him."

He levitated Ron and stalked out of the bathroom. "You better pray he doesn't manage to create any more havoc, or you'll likely face charges. You'll likely be expelled either way."

Ron tried to curse at the professor, but he was gagged in a similar manner to how Harry had been. The professor went on talking.

"It figures that things would get crazier for me after I retire. I might as well join the force again. They might even give me a commendation for this. Especially with all of the information I've collected on the boy; that should make even the trial of the Boy-Who-Lived run smoothly. Wouldn't that be something. Twenty-five years on the force without remark, then I go to teach.

"I have to say, boy, I've never come across anyone quite so gullible as you. Your best friend was a sociopath, and you couldn't see it. Even when everyone else could, you stuck by him. Even when he took your sister from you," he said contemptuously, "you were still fooled. Merlin I hope they snap your wand for sheer stupidity."

He went on. "It's a time tested tale, you know. A boy gets mistreated growing up, and he's damaged goods forever after. I tell you, a lot of weird stuff must have happened in that house. If they don't send him to Azkaban, he'll be in Saint Mungo's for the rest of his life. I bet you'll be begging for Mungo's. What do you think your parents will say? Azkaban or St-" as now seemed to becoming habit, the professor cut off suddenly, followed by a thud that came just after Ron's own fall to the floor.

Ron squirmed his head to see who it was this time. There were the twins, looking as furious as Ron had ever seen them. Fred brandished his wand, and Ron felt the ropes binding him fall to the floor.

"Thank Merlin," he said, "I thought I'd have to listen to him spew garbage on until the end times."

"Ron, what in the Hell is going on?" George demanded.

"Okay, so we found out where the Chamber was, and we tried to tell Professor Druthers, but he tried to arrest Harry instead. So I knocked him out with a torch, and we decided to go rescue Ginny ourselves. Harry was just about to drop down into the Chamber when the professor found us. I knocked Harry into the Chamber, and tired to stop the professor, but he just got me with the ropes, and now Harry's alone in the Chamber so we have to go help him and get Ginny."

For once, Ron was able to have a straightforward conversation with the twins.

"Alright then, lets go," was all Fred said, and then Ron was leading the way to the girls bathroom.

"How did you know?" he asked them.

"The professors aren't the only ones who can keep a tab on the school," was all George said.

Ron led them into the girls bathroom.

"What are you doing here again?" demanded Myrtle. "And with more boys, too!"

"Oh, bugger off will you?" said Ron. "We've not got the time."

Myrtle gave a repeat performance of her toilet dive, and Ron turned to his brothers.

"Well, this is it," he said, gesturing to the hole in the ground.

"In a bloody girls bathroom?" asked George.

"I know," said Ron, "who'd a thought?"

"I don't know," said Fred, "are you sure they don't all have one of these?"

Ron ignored him. "I don't know how we'll get down though. Druthers cast a spell on the opening. He said it would keep Harry from coming through."

Fred and George stepped forward, and George tossed a knut at the hole. It bounced off.

"Right," said George.

Without further communication, the two of them started taking turns casting spells on the barrier.

After a while, George turned to him. "This might take a while."

!

"Harry Potter, you found me," said the boy standing over Ginny. "Well, this is a surprise."

"I was beginning to think you wanted me to find you," said Harry after a moment.

"Oh, Ginny? No, that was to remove your last supporters from you. I don't suppose it worked?"

"It didn't!"

"Pity, but I suppose it's something of a moot point now. You weren't supposed to find me, Harry Potter. No, she was to die, and you were take the blame. But not legally, no. There was never any proof against you after all, and they would have to have proof to put away the boy who lived. Not like that oaf, Hagrid."

The boy was talking in riddles, but for the moment, Harry only wanted to know one thing.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"My name's Tom Marvolo Riddle," said the boy. "I was a student here a number of years ago."

"You're not that old," said Harry, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Magic makes many things possible, surely you've figured that out by now. You must have learned as much from _Defense from the Indefensible._"

There was a pause. "You've been writing the letters."

"Yes, and it's a pity it's all gone to waste. It would have been most ironic if I had succeeded in turning you to my side. For you see, you may know me by my other name-"

"Voldemort," Harry finished for him.

"I must say, you continue to surprise me."

"You're a horcrux, aren't you?" asked Harry.

"Now where would a boy like you hear such a word, I wonder?" asked Tom, after covering a look of shock.

"You're not the first I've come across," said Harry. "You probably won't be the last."

"Oh, and I suppose you think you'll survive this, do you? You won't, unless I allow you to."

"That's fine," said Harry. "The only person I'm interested in walking out of here is Ginny."

"She was right about you," said Tom, with a smirk. "You have no sense of self-preservation. That could have been useful to me. Of course, it still could."

"What do you mean, 'she told you'? Ginny?"

"Oh, but that's what's brought us here," said Tom, clearly delighted to be able to tell his story. "You see it was almost a year ago that little Ginny happened to acquire my diary. She was very surprised to find that it wrote back to her. You see, the more she wrote to me, the stronger I became, the more I became alive. Soon I was able to possess her, and I unleashed the basilisk upon the school."

"I've seen Ginny this year. She seemed normal."

"Oh, I wasn't strong enough to possess her all of the time. She'd come to after blacking out, with no recollection of unleashing a deadly monster, or strangling roosters. She became quite confused of course, and I, I was there to sooth her worries."

"You bastard," Harry hissed at him.

"Oh, Harry, there's no need for invectives. You could still join me, you know. That's what I've wanted all along. No one would be able to hurt you ever again, if you were with me. You could keep every one you care about safe. I could make you more powerful than you could possibly imagine."

"That's what this has all been about then?" asked Harry. "Turn everyone against me so I'd turn to you?"

"Of course," said Tom. "The Boy Who Lived, now a dark prince. You and I could go far."

"So everyone you attacked, you attacked because people would think I wanted it to happen."

"Lockhart gave you a detention, Colin captured your moment of weakness. Fletchley, well that was providence. I'd been lying in wait for McGonagall. I wanted the teachers to be nervous about giving you a detention, and give you a taste of the benefits of being feared by others. But then you had that delicious shouting match with Fletchley. Well, it was just too bad they didn't leave the classroom together, I might have had them both. I must say though, it's a good thing that he was cleaning his glasses at the time. Petrifaction just drew things out so much longer than simply killing them would have. I took steps to ensure no one died after that. I had to be mindful of my timescale."

"What timescale?" asked Harry.

"Why Ginny, of course. I could only take from her what she gave to me. Until now, that is. The balance of power has shifted, and I can take from her what I want. Soon, I will be fully reborn, and she will be dead. And now you will have a choice to make, Harry. Let Ginny die, join me, and leave behind the plebeian masses who would spit on you, or die with the girl."

"I have the feeling," said Harry, relieved to have confirmation that Ginny was still alive, "that Ginny could have told you every detail about me, and you never would have understood. You wouldn't have made that offer if you did."

"And what do you think you can do, Harry? Do you truly intend to die for the wizarding world?"

"No, I'll die for my friends," said Harry fiercely. "For the Weasley's, for my team mates, for the Professors who've taken care of me."

"Then you know you can't stop me."

"Maybe I can't" said Harry, knowing that he would never stop trying, "though I wouldn't bet against my track record. But Professor Dumbledore will if I don't."

"Dumbledore was chased away by a mere memory, what do you think he can do?"

"Dumbledore is ten times the wizard you'll ever be," said Harry. "A better wizard, and a better person." The Professor may not have realized it, but he had earned Harry's undying loyalty by showing such compassion after learning that Harry was a horcrux.

"You must be able to speak Parceltongue to have gotten down here, Harry," said Tom. "Listen closely, because you're about to hear it spoken by someone else for the first time. I don't know how you found out about my Horcruxes, but I shouldn't have to worry about it for long. Parceltongue may well be the last thing either of you hear."

Harry drew his wand. "Somnium!" he cried, to no effect. The spell sailed through Tom.

Tom chuckled and turned to the statue.

"Speak to me Salazar, greatest of the Hogwarts four." Aside from a slight hissing sound, his words sounded exactly like english to Harry.

The mouth on the statue began to open noisily, but it wasn't the only sound that echoed through the room, as Fawkes appeared over head, singing what must have been the battle call of the phoenixes. Harry felt his resolve firm, his weariness lift. Into his arms fell the Sorting Hat.

Tom was not so impressed. "Oh yes," he said, laughing, "Dumbledore is truly a great wizard, why he sent you a song bird and an old hat. They will certainly help you to defeat a basilisk."

Harry averted his eyes as something began coming out of the mouth of the statue, and ran back to the cover of the columns. He shoved the hat onto his head.

'You better be good for something here,' Harry thought at it.

'I'll show you exactly what I'm good for,' the hat replied. 'But not just yet. Keep your head down, for the time being.'

What else was Harry to do? He doubted that sleeping spells would work on a Basilisk. He had actually learned a lot about defense that year, but nothing that would be helpful in that moment.

He heard a heavy thud behind him as the basilisk settled down on the chamber floor. And then, both the basilisk and Fawkes cried out together.

"No, get away from him. Stupid bird."

Fawkes cried triumphantly, and the basilisk let out an agonizing scream.

"No!" shouted Tom. "Your phoenix may have blinded the basilisk, but it can still smell you, Potter. You won't be leaving here alive."

'Is this what you were waiting for?' Harry asked the Hat, as he looked at the now blinded basilisk. It was gigantic.

'As it so happens,' the Hat replied. Then it hit Harry in the head, or seemed to anyway. With a startled yell, Harry pulled the hat off of his head and saw that there was now a sword handle sticking out of it. Harry drew the ruby encrusted weapon out, and knew that it was his turn to go on the offensive.

Harry charged, yelling, even as the basilisk began diving towards him. Harry rolled away from the basilisk as it dove at him and ran at the creature's exposed underbelly, where it came up off the ground. Harry stabbed with the sword, which went through the beast's flesh with only a little difficulty. The monster bellowed once more, but there was little other effect. Harry realized that the blade was likely too short to reach any of it's vital organs, too thin to cause much damage. Still, he slashed at it again as he raced back, the creature trying to crush him under its weight.

"That's it," Tom hissed at it. "Use your whole body. He cannot dodge your whole mass."

Harry backed further away from the beast realizing he needed another plan. His back came up against one of the snake carved columns, and one came to him. As quickly as he could, Harry climbed, easily reaching twenty feet in seconds. He leapt up as the creature tried to strike at him with it's mouth, for a moment only barely holding on to his new hand hold. The monster reared up to a greater height, clearly not intending to miss twice. Harry twisted around, finding his footing.

Harry had seen a bit of a pirate movie once. He remembered how a pirate had jumped at a sail with a blade outstretched, and rode the blade down as it sliced through the sail. Without thinking twice, Harry leaped at the basilisk, the sword grasped firmly in both his hands over his head. He felt the blade sink into the beast, and his weight began dragging him down. A spray of red-black blood washed over him.

The basilisk's cry of pain was ungodly, and Harry had to resist the urge to cover his ears as he continued to hold tightly onto the sword. Now the beast was bucking, and it collapsed backwards. Harry was forced to leap from it, lest he be crushed as it writhed around. The sword remained in the beast, and became impaled further as the creature writhed around more.

Tom was shouting at it and cursing Harry at the same time. The basilisk's movements became slower and slower. There was blood everywhere, Harry hadn't known that there could be so much blood in one place. Finally, the beast stilled.

Harry approached it slowly, seeing that the sword was only just sticking out by a few inches, but easily retrievable. He was now aware of a number of injuries he had suffered when he had leapt from the basilisk, including a twisted ankle. He didn't care that he was putting Tom out of his sight, behind the basilisk's body. He had the impression that Tom wasn't a physical threat to him. Harry drew the sword out, and noticed the basilisk's mouth, hanging slightly open. Still glistening with saliva, it's fangs shone prominently. An idea came to Harry suddenly, followed quickly by another. One, he thought might work. The other, well, he hoped the first one worked. Harry stepped forward and used the sword to remove one of the fangs.

The sword in one hand, the fang concealed in the other, Harry rounded the basilisk to confront Riddle. Drenched in blood, he made for an imposing sight.

"Well," said Riddle. "I must say it's a good thing you came down here. If I can't have you, I certainly don't want Dumbledore to. You are even more formidable an opponent than I had thought."

"Is that so?" asked Harry as he limped forward, his ankle beginning to swell most awfully.

"You'll soon be dead," said Riddle acidly, now just in front of Harry.

"Maybe not as soon as you'd think," said Harry, before he swung the sword at Riddle's neck with all of his might.

The sword sailed right through, as though Riddle were not there, and Harry nearly toppled as he overbalanced.

"There's no need for such foolishness, Harry," said Tom, a touch of affability returning to his voice. "Soon Ginny will be dead, and I will be able to kill you myself."

"I have a wand and a sword," said Harry. "What do you hope to do?"

"I am Lord Voldemort," said Riddle. "I will have no trouble in dispatching you."

"Is that so?" asked Harry. "Then how do you explain your defeat eleven years ago?" It was time to switch to plan B. Already, he was steeling himself to do what he needed to. First of all though, he needed to lie as he never had before.

"It doesn't mater how it happened. It was a fluke. I'll kill you here and that will be the end of it. Who knows? Maybe I can kill Dumbledore and pin it on you. Wouldn't that be something? Then I can show the world your body, and I'll be Dumbledore's avenger. I can taste their adoration already. And since I doubt he's told anyone about something as _horrible_ as a horcrux, well, my secrets will die with the both of you."

"You weren't paying attention earlier, were you?" asked Harry, letting his voice become scornful. "I'm no ordinary twelve year old. Professor Dumbledore's been studying me for nearly two years and he still doesn't understand. What he does know is that I've a power in me he can't explain or define. The power that vanquished you. The power that let me kill a basilisk. That let me stop you last year too. It's the power that will keep me safe tonight, but it could be yours."

"What?" asked Riddle.

Harry reminded himself of every evil look he had received, every cruel word, every blow from behind. The beating he had received. His own house turning against him. He reminded himself of everyone he loved, who needed him to stop Voldemort. Ron, who believed in him. Hermione who supported him through everything. His team mates, the professors. They needed Harry to stop Riddle more than they needed Harry. And the Weasley's needed Ginny more than they needed someone as broken as him.

Harry spoke quickly. "You could only take what she gave to you, right? It took all year. Will you be as strong as you could be? Wouldn't you rather have my power, my life, my magic? I'll give it to you freely, my life for her life. I'll be dead, you'll have my power, and you let Ginny go home."

Harry could see the hunger in Tom's eyes. He was tempted, so very tempted.

"We could write a contract in your little diary," said Harry. "I think that would be best. My life, for her life, Riddle." He had the fang ready, and further inspiration struck him. "Perhaps, you could even use _my_ body. How would that be, wreaking havoc as the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Harry, what are you doing?!"

It was Ron. Harry's eyes widened as he turned to see Ron and the twins who had been sneaking up.

"Stay out of this," Harry shouted at them. "This is the only way." He turned back to Riddle, dropping the sword.

"Do we have a deal? You just have to let all of the Weasleys leave here alive." Harry said, holding his hand out. Harry didn't need to wait for a response, he could see it in Riddle's eyes that they were in agreement. Behind his back he sank the the fang into his hip, before his friends could wrench his resolve away from him.

"Harry!" It must have been all three Weasley's who called out.

"You can't stop this," Harry replied, feeling an intense pain beginning to spread inside of him.

"We have a deal," said Riddle, grinning widely.

Suddenly though, Fawkes burst in between them in a burst of orange flames. In his talons was a little black book, the diary. For a moment, everyone stared at it. Harry, thinking that Fawkes would hardly be helping in his plan to kill himself, knew what he had to do. Grabbing the diary, Harry cast it to the floor before driving the basilisk's fang into it.

Riddle screamed. It was inhuman in both tone and volume, and Harry did clasp his hands over his ears this time. Black ink burst forth from the hole in the diary, and Harry was once more covered. He threw himself away from Riddle and the diary, watching as Riddle burst into motes of impure light, which faded into nothing.

"Harry!" Ron called out again, running over to Harry's side.

"Check Ginny," said Harry weakly, now feeling the effects of the basilisk's venom in earnest.

Ron was obviously in conflict over who to tend to, but having Harry's permission, he scrambled over to Ginny, who seemed to be coming to.

"What did you do?" demanded one of the twins, seemingly through a rather large lump in his throat. They had approached more slowly, disbelieving looks on their faces.

"I'm sorry," said Harry quietly. "I'm really sorry. I thought I needed to. But it might be-" he tried to say, for the best, but he cried out in pain instead. The wound was throbbing, as though the fang were stabbing him over and over. His extremities were becoming numb, but there was a pain racing through his veins that Harry knew would soon reach them.

"What's going on?" That was Ginny, now taking in her surroundings.

"I'm sorry," Harry said again, wavering, even though he was already on the ground.

"Harry!" one of his friends called out, Harry wasn't sure which.

"I really wanted this to be a good year," Harry slurred. "You guys are great, I mean it." He began struggling to get to his feet. He didn't want to die on the ground, his friends staring down at him. Before he could stand though, something impacted him hard on the back, and he fell down. His arms were not strong enough to stop his chin from hitting the ground, and his teeth clicked together painfully. A heavy weight settled on his back. Harry would normally have been able to sit up regardless, but he was powerless to move now.

"What's it doing?" asked Ron in alarm. Harry couldn't see him.

"Ron stop!" cried one of the twins.

The pain was going away. That had to be a bad thing. His vision was going black too. Only . . . it wasn't anymore. The world was coming into focus again.

"Phoenix tears," exclaimed one of the twins softly. "They can heal almost anything."

Strength was flooding back into Harry, and as soon as the phoenix had left his back, Harry stood up with ease, his other wounds feeling much better themselves. Though there was nothing to see, Harry looked himself over in wonder.

"Harry, you bloody idiot," said one of the twins. "What did you scare us like that for?"

"Guys," said Ron darkly, "would you take Ginny ahead to the tunnel? I need to yell at my best friend."

"Yeah," said one of the twins. "Come on Ginny."

Ginny by now was crying, and apologizing. Harry had never seen the twins seem so gentle as they began comforting her, and leading her out. Harry turned to face Ron. He took a deep breath.

"I know what you're going to say," he began.

"Do you?" asked Ron angrily. "Do you really?"

"You think I want to die," said Harry, "but I don't."

"Then what was that, then?" Ron demanded loudly.

"I don't want to die," said Harry, just as loudly, "but I will if it means protecting the people I care about. It's not plan A, and it wasn't today, but it's an option."

"What does that even mean? It's an option?" asked Ron.

"It means that if it comes down to it, I'll do what I have to, always, to protect the people I care about; to protect the innocent."

Harry's eyes widened as he saw Fawkes barreling once more at him. Harry stumbled back before Fawkes's feet impacted his chest, putting him flat on his back on the ground. Fawkes cried out, and for a moment Harry felt like the noblest of knights. He knew in that moment, that Fawkes wholly approved of Harry's attitude. Harry stilled as Fawkes's beak came to hover above his face. He managed not to flinch when Fawkes pulled off his glasses. Ron started to dart forward.

"Wait!" said Harry, as he gazed transfixed up at the phoenix.

Dropping Harry's glasses onto Harry's chest, Fawkes once more lowered his head over Harry's. Pearly white tears formed at his eyes, and then ran down his beak. One each fell into Harry's eyes.

For just a moment, his eyes stung from the foreign substance, but then, everything became clear. Clearer than ever before. If there was anything beyond twenty-twenty vision, Harry was sure that this was it. Fawkes once more launched himself in the air, and began singing.

"Oh great," said Ron bitterly, though perhaps not so bitterly as he would have in the absence of the phoenix's song. "The phoenix thinks suicide is awesome, so everything's all better I guess. Just remember this, Harry. We're Gryffindor's, and part of that _is_ self-sacrifice. That doesn't mean you do it when your plan is beyond too stupid to work." With that, he turned away from Harry and stormed off towards the exit.

Harry took a moment to collect himself, and his conflicting emotions. On the one hand, Ron was right, and his plan was pretty stupid. Nothing said that Riddle couldn't go back into the diary and kill Ginny all over again. Harry doubted that Riddle would have truly severed his connection to her. But on the other, he couldn't think of what else he could have done. Ginny's life had been on the line, so failure hadn't been an option. Harry was a Horcrux; Ginny's life certainly outweighed his own.

Looking around himself, Harry collected the sword, the diary, the hat, and the basilisk fang before going to follow the Weasleys.

Fawkes was able to raise them up through the chute to the girls bathroom. Fred and George told him about how they had found Ron and dispelled a barrier on the entrance. Ron, it seemed, wasn't talking to him for the moment, and Ginny had stopped talking at all, except to tell people how sorry she was. Harry told her not to worry about it.

They went to Professor McGonagall's office, hoping she would be there. They stopped outside of it as they heard voices.

"I want him expelled. He knocked me unconscious!" It was Professor Druthers. Ron winced.

"AS WELL HE SHOULD HAVE! YOU ATTACKED A STUDENT!" Harry's heart lifted to hear Professor McGonagall's defense.

"He was trying to lure me away to attack me!"

"Let me make myself perfectly clear," said Professor McGonagall, her voice colder than Harry had ever heard it. "Mr. Potter is not, and has never been a suspect in the eyes of this school. Mr. Potter was seeking the help of an adult, but instead we likely have two twelve year olds trying to face the beast on their own! If anything happens to them, I will make certain that you are held accountable. As it is, your services are no longer required. Leave Hogwarts, now! Your belongings will be sent to you."

A throat was cleared.

"That is," said Professor McGonagall, sounding the slightest bit flustered, "if the headmaster wishes it."

"I'm not entirely certain that I do wish to send his belongings along, Minerva, but still, I suppose we must." Harry and the Weasley's all looked at each other excitedly. Professor Dumbledore was back! "However it is not all so bad. The missing students are just outside the door after all."

There was a strangled cry from the other side of the door, and the students all took a step back. It was not a professor who opened the door however, it was Molly Weasley.

"Ginny!" she cried, her face tear stained, and fresh tears brimming. "You're alive, you're all alive!"

Harry wouldn't have thought that Mrs. Weasley could have fit them all in a hug, but some how she scooped them all into her arms for a very tight hug. He tried to angle himself so he wouldn't smear everyone with blood and ink, but it was a lost cause.

When she stepped back though, Ginny rushed back into her mother's arms, sobbing. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall was shooing Professor Druthers down the hall with a nasty look. Harry made sure to make eye contact with the man, trying to convey all of the emotions he felt because of his betrayal. Druthers broke the eye contact and hurried away. Professor McGonagall ushered everyone into the office. Mr. Weasley and Percy were there too, and they wasted no time in rushing to their family.

"Harry, are you alright?" asked Professor McGonagall, taking in Harry's bloody form.

"I'm okay," Harry answered.

"What happened?" asked Mrs. Weasley very emotionally.

"I think we would all like to know that," said Professor Dumbledore. And though five of them had been in the Chamber, all eyes went to Harry. It was only natural, he supposed, considering the state he was in.

Harry cleared his throat, suddenly very self-conscious.

"Well, we were in the infirmary, looking after Hermione," he began, telling the story more or less accurately. He glossed over things like exactly how they had made the connection to Myrtle, or his own gambit at the end."

Harry became more and more self-conscious through his telling, as everyone's eyes invariably turned to him with awe. He made sure to avoid mentioning anything about horcruxes, but he could tell that Professor Dumbledore understood. He recalled Ron's warning about not telling anyone about being parseltongue, but for himself, he trusted everyone in the room. Also, he wasn't sure how to tell the story without mentioning it. Harry finished, telling about how he had stabbed the diary with the basilisk fang just after Ginny's brothers had arrived.

"Thank you," said Mr. Weasley dazedly.

There was a moment's silence, as Harry wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Oh, but Ginny, how could you write in that diary?" asked Mrs. Weasley. Harry turned to her guiltily, as he realized that he may have gotten her into trouble. He opened his mouth to explain that Ginny had been very cunningly tricked, but Professor Dumbledore beat him to it.

"What I want to know is where Ginny even got the diary," said Mr. Weasley, a dark expression on his face.

"It was with the rest of my books when we came back from Diagon Alley," Ginny explained in a very small voice. "I thought one of you had gotten it for me."

"Did anything happen during your visit to Diagon Alley?" queried Professor Dumbledore.

"I should think that a fist fight with Lucius Malfoy would qualify," Mrs. Weasley said darkly.

"I see," said Professor Dumbledore pensively. "He is one of a select few that Voldemort would have entrusted such an item to.

"Well, young Ginevra," the Professor went on, "you have fought a long and hard battle, and now, I think, it is time for you to rest."

Very quickly, Ginny was ushered out of the room by her parents, so that she could be tended to by Madam Pomfrey.

"One thing I would like to know," said Professor Dumbledore, after they were gone, "is why you're not wearing your glasses, Harry. I see them sticking out of your shirt pocket there."

"He doesn't need them," said Ron heatedly, "because after healing Harry's self-inflicted basilisk fang wound, Fawkes decided that self-sacrificial suicide is just swell and healed Harry's eyes too!"

Harry turned to Ron in shock, entirely unused to Ron tattling on him.

"I didn't know about the eyes," said one of the twins. "But Ron's right about Harry trying to kill himself."

"He tried to take You-Know-Who with him," added the other twin, "but I don't think it would have worked at all."

Harry's mouth fell open. The twins of all people were ratting him out to Dumbledore and Professor Mcgonagall.

Their head of house seemed beyond words at this exclamation, but Professor Dumbledore was not. He sighed deeply, and addressed the other professor.

"Minerva," he said. "The boys must be very tired after their ordeal, and they can't have had a chance to eat. Would you see to it that they are fed before they turn in for the evening? Harry, if you'll stay here please, we have a few things to discuss."

Harry remained silent as a very thin lipped Professor McGonagall ushered the rest of the Weasley's out of the office. Alone with the Professor, Harry was entirely unsure of what to say. Professor Dumbledore though, it seemed, did not need Harry to say anything.

"Did you know it is very rare for a phoenix to heal a wound not received in battle? Especially rare for them to heal a congenital and minor defect such as poor eyesight. You proved yourself to Fawkes today when you fought the basilisk and stood up to Tom. That is why he healed your basilisk wound. But then you proved yourself again. It must have been a spontaneous declaration, heart felt, of your intention to fight the darkness; to put yourself second. I would not be very surprised if, one day, Fawkes decided to join you on your journey."

Harry swallowed, and nodded. "I didn't want to die," he said. He didn't know how many times he would wind up saying that today. "I just didn't know what else to do. I convinced Tom that my life would be better than Ginny's. I thought, maybe if I poisoned myself, I could take him with me."

"And what led you to believe that your death would have any impact upon him, other than to inconvenience him?" There was no anger, or even contempt in his voice. It was almost just a simple question. Yet Harry still felt a little stupid.

"I hoped," said Harry. "I didn't know what else to do."

"Phoenixes are magnificent creatures, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "But things are simpler for them. They do not understand the realities of the world we live in. You cannot follow their every battle cry, lest you destroy yourself and your cause in the process." Once more, Professor Dumbledore sighed.

"I had hoped," he said, "that I had instilled in you some hope."

"But you have!" cried Harry. "And I thought of you, and everyone who cared about me when I was down there today. You all mean so much to me!"

"But we do not want you to die for us Harry. That is what I want you to hope for, a life, not the care that any child should expect. I have not given up hope of curing you of the horcrux. I am sorry Harry, but if I cannot give you hope enough to live, then I must find another way."

"What are you talking about?" asked Harry nervously.

"I have meant every word I have told you, Harry. I intend for you to live, not just until we have destroyed Voldemort's horcruxes, but long after. You have shown yourself to be an honorable and kind boy, and I truly do care for you. But there is an even stronger reason for you to survive."

"What?" asked Harry, already dreading what the answer might be. The truth was a terrible thing, he had learned that last year.

"Shortly before you were born," said Professor Dumbledore, his voice weary, "there was a prophecy made. It stated not only that a child would be born having the power to defeat Voldemort, but that he would be the only one that could."

Harry swallowed hard. There could be no doubt that Dumbledore meant that he, Harry was that child. He thought back to his bluff to Riddle, that he had a special power. It turned out then that it wasn't so much of a bluff.

"But then, the prophecy has come true already, hasn't it? I destroyed Voldemort's body that night."

"The language of the prophecy would suggest otherwise, Harry. For Voldemort to have been 'vanquished', you would not have met him last year. You would never have heard his voice through your scar, and the events of this year would never have happened. No, the prophecy is still in play, and while it is my goal that you live long past it, you must survive long enough to fulfill it."

Harry swallowed hard. His mind contained too many thoughts to be examined. He didn't know what to think, or to feel.

"I understand," he said quietly. And though he couldn't piece together his own thoughts, he did understand the implications of the prophecy. A part of him wished that he still didn't. That Professor Dumbledore had kept this secret from him until he was older, and ready to handle something of such magnitude. Another part of him thought back to the astronomy tower, to the Chamber of Secrets, and wondered how close he had been to ruining everything.

"I understand," Harry said again. "I'll be more careful, from now on. I won't let you down."

"You aren't alone in this Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "I will try to hold as much of this burden as I can for you. Your friends, too, can support you, as will the professors of this school. Never forget that."

"I think I'd like to see my friends now," said Harry.

"By all means," said Professor Dumbledore. "Keep them close."

Harry nodded, but before he could leave, the door to Professor McGonagall's office was thrust open, and in walked Lucius Malfoy. He ignored Harry, who was able to observe Dobby the house elf walk in obsequiously behind the man.

"Dobby!" Harry exclaimed. Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened, and he shot a venomous look at Dobby. Harry realized that he had just gotten the elf into trouble.

Malfoy turned back to Professor Dumbledore. "So," he said, "you have returned. In spite of the wishes of the Board."

"Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, "I think you should be on your way. Go see your friends."

Harry wanted to shout and rail at Malfoy. The presence of Dobby only cemented their theory of who had slipped the diary to Ginny. But he was getting into the habit of following Professor Dumbledore's directions.

"Okay," said Harry. He looked apologetically at Dobby before walking out.

Harry walked down the hall slowly, taking the longest route he could to the infirmary. He wanted to see his friends, but at the same time he feared the prospect. Everything was going to change today, and it wouldn't be for the better.

The Weasley's senior were gone from the infirmary. Ginny was asleep in one of the beds, and only Ron had come to the infirmary after eating. He was seated next to Hermione, who was awake once more. She spoke up before Harry got a chance to say anything.

"Harry, tell me Ron got it wrong, and you didn't try to kill yourself."

"Merlin, Ron," said Harry, "how many people are you going to tell?"

"As many as I have to to keep you alive," said Ron without a touch of guilt.

"Well it doesn't matter, anymore," said Harry heatedly.

"Doesn't matter?!" demanded Hermione shrilly.

"No, it doesn't," said Harry, "because I can't die now."

"What do you mean, you can't die?" asked Ron dubiously. "I know phoenix tears don't do _that._"

"I don't mean I _can't _die," said Harry running a hand frustratedly through his hair. "I mean that there would be terrible consequences if I did."

"You're damned right there would be!" said Hermione.

"Dammit, would you just . . . I have to kill Voldemort. It's me, or no one else. Professor Dumbledore just told me. There's a prophecy. If I don't kill Voldemort, no one else will be able to, and I think we all know how that will end eventually."

Ron and Hermione were finally silent, staring at Harry in horror. "It's not like I wanted to die in the first place," said Harry miserably. "But it's an awful lot of pressure to stay alive for this. I need you guys. I can't do this on my own."

"What do you need from me?" asked Ron seriously.

"To be my friend," said Harry, "both of you. I mean it, I think I'd fall apart if you weren't there to keep me together. I know that's not fair, but-"

"Done," said Hermione. "We're your friends always, we don't need a stupid prophecy to lock us into it. What else do you need."

Harry swallowed thickly past the strong emotions that Hermione's declaration had stirred up. "I need you to help me become the best wizard I can be. I need to be able to fight, to solve any problems I come across, to survive conditions that could kill me. Hermione, you're always trying to get us to study, and keep us on task. I need you do that for me, only like, all the way. I need you to help me become the wizard that vanquishes Voldemort."

Hermione stared at him for a moment. "I have conditions," she blurted out finally.

"What?" asked Harry and Ron.

"I said I have conditions," Hermione said more firmly.

"O- okay," said Harry.

"Whether or not you really don't want to die," said Hermione, "you have an awfully large fascination with death. That's not good, so you're going to get a hobby."

"What?" asked Ron, as Harry said, "But I already play Quidditch."

"An artistic hobby," Hermione forged forward. "There's clearly something that's been going on in that head of yours, Harry Potter, and if you can't tell us what it is, maybe you can get it out through art."

"Um," said Harry.

"I don't care if it's drawing, or music, or whatever. But you will find an art, you will practice it everyday, and you will get at least a little good at it by the end of the summer, or I'm not helping you. I mean it, I won't help you kill yourself, Harry. If we do this, then you're going to do this with the intention of surviving."

"Okay," said Harry slowly.

"And you're going to keep a diary," said Hermione, clearly making things up as she went along.

"Okay," said Harry, still uncertain, but knowing that he had to agree with whatever she said.

"And meditation," said Hermione. "I don't actually know much about that, but it has benefits, and you're going to practice it everyday too."

"Is that it?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Hermione, "that's it."

"Okay," said Harry.

"Blimey," said Ron.

"I'll need to figure things out over the summer," said Hermione. "I should have something ready for you when the next term starts. Um, there's books on meditation in the library. I'm sure Madam Pince can help you. And take a week to figure out what art you want to do, I guess. And get yourself a diary. And um, yeah, I'm actually going to go back to sleep now."

"Yeah, you get your rest," said Ron.

"Thanks, Hermione," said Harry. "I mean, you kind of saved the day, here."

"Yeah," said Ron, "you were awesome."

"I know," said Hermione, nodding to herself. "I'm just very tired right now."

Harry and Ron bid her goodnight and stepped away. They both walked over to one of the windows and looked at the evening sky. Harry marveled at how clearly he could see the entire vista, even in the low-light.

"I better not ever have to see you dying again, Harry."

"I'm sorry," said Harry.

"That's three times now," said Ron.

"I know," said Harry. Ron had seen him when Voldemort had almost killed him, when his Uncle had almost killed him, and now he had witnessed Harry driving a basilisk's fang into his own flesh. If he were Ron, he'd be freaking out too.

Ron didn't say anything for a while. "Thanks," he said.

For a moment, Harry wasn't sure how to respond. Finally, he said. "That's what friends are for."

"No," said Ron. "That's what family's for."

!

Albus surveyed the boy over the rim of his half-moon glasses. Mr. Weller had been unremarkable in his time at Hogwarts, and so Albus knew only the most basic of information about him. He sighed.

"Mr. Weller, I have never needed to expel a student during my tenure at this school. I hope that you will not be the first. But you savagely attacked an innocent boy. A boy who just nearly died saving Miss Weasley, and this entire school. I'm certain that you can see where my trouble stems from. But I will explain it, in case you do not. I have promised that boy safety in this castle. And I cannot do that if I am not certain that your co-conspirators are of no further threat. And to gain that certainty, I need names. This is where you come in.

!

Deep in Albania's darkest forest, a rodent paused in it's tracks. This was no ordinary rodent, for it was possessed by the spirit of one of the darkest wizards to have ever lived. It had a sense that something bad had just happened, but couldn't fathom what it was. It went back to foraging for food.

A/N: It seems I'm so excited by all this free time I have, I've been writing at a prodigious rate! I hope you all liked the chapter. Either way, let me know in a review. The first leg of this story is coming to a close; one more chapter, and we'll be on PoA. Let's all see what I can get out to you guys over this summer.

Also, my beta The Lord of Chaos, who completed _Isis's Bane and the Goblet of Fire_ for me, is starting a new story, and hopes to post in the near future. Also, he wanted me to point out that I stole the part about Ron hoping that Ginny was being kept alive for a virgin sacrifice from his story _What Maters_.


	13. 12 Round Up

Disclaimer: Don't own this, wish I did.

Round Up

Ron didn't let him out of his sight for the rest of the night.

They didn't go immediately back to the common room; after everything, they didn't feel up to seeing the rest of Gryffindor. The twins were back in the common room, and they could explain everything to the others. Aside from the few that had stood up for him, he didn't feel like answering the questions, or accusations, of those who had turned on him. Instead, Ron showed Harry to a small room next to the infirmary where Professor McGonagall had summoned some platters of food. Harry, who hadn't realized until that moment that he was hungry, dove into eating with a great gusto.

They walked idly through the castle halls for a while after that. There was no threat now. The Heir of Slytherin and his monster were defeated, and the other students were still in the common rooms. As he walked, Harry felt as though a great weight had been lifted from him. It had not yet been returned to him in whole, but the castle was on its way to being the home that it was supposed to be. For a while, he would enjoy it as though it were perfectly his home. He would see where things stood when he returned to the common room and saw how his housemates perceived him now. Savior or monster, was the question. Harry doubted if he would ever again be just Harry, if he ever had been.

Eventually their feet tired though, and Harry was still worse for the wear. They made their way back to the common room. To their surprise, it was nearly empty. Seven heads turned to them when the portrait hole opened. It was the rest of the quidditch team and Percy.

"Where's everyone else?" asked Ron.

"Professor McGonagall sent them all to their dorms after dinner," said Percy.

"She said we could stay down here though," said Oliver. "Just in case you came back here needing something while she was off taking care of things. She also wanted us to tell you that she wanted to see you first thing tomorrow before breakfast, but you can sleep in if you need to."

Ron and Harry walked forward and sat down with them.

"What happened after we left?" asked Harry.

"Nothing crazy," said Oliver. "Mostly just a lot of shouting."

"Not everyone was against you," said Angelina, "and the ones who were, didn't have the guts to do more than shout."

"How many though?" asked Harry, not sure if he wanted to know.

"About a third," said one of the twins, grimly.

"When Fred and I came down to the common room, about that many were trying to make trouble," said George. "Most seemed to be trying to stay out of it, I guess they didn't know what to make of things."

"You guys stood up to a third of Gryffindor for me?" asked Harry.

"Hey, we've got to keep our star seeker safe," said Oliver. "Not that you kept yourself safe." For a moment, Harry worried that the twins, like Ron before them, had told about what Harry had done to himself in the chamber. But Oliver went on. "I can't believe you took on a basilisk, Harry. They'll be telling stories about you for centuries here in Hogwarts."

"Yeah, and the good kind this time," said Alicia.

"Well if they have to talk about me..." said Harry.

"What?" asked Oliver.

Harry hadn't had an end to the sentence in mind, having thought that it spoke for itself, but perhaps he was too tired to have given it the proper inflection. So he ad-libbed. "...I wish it was at least about quidditch." That got some laughs.

"Say," said Ron, "do you think they'll finish the season, now that everything's over?"

"Nah," said Oliver, "that was the first thing I asked Professor McGonagall. But she says there's not enough time to be fair. Next year, Harry, you'll give them something to talk about that'll dwarf the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry felt himself smile. How long had it been since he had really smiled? "I'd like that," he said.

"It wasn't just us who stood up for you, you know," said Oliver, "that dorm mate of yours, Longbottom wound up punching a sixth year."

"Neville did?" asked Ron in surprise.

"Yeah," said Angelina. "The guy had said something about you, and the kid just decked him."

"Huh," said Harry.

"Good old Neville," said Ron.

"You look beat, Harry," said Percy. "Have you eaten?" he asked.

"Yeah, I had dinner," said Harry.

"Maybe you should head on up to bed. I'm surprised Madam Pomfrey didn't hold onto you."

That seemed to Harry to be a very good idea. He would need a shower first, of course, but after that, he would be ready to collapse.

"Alright," he said, "and um, thanks for everything. It means a lot."

There were many good nights, as well as comments of gratitude and respect, before Harry and Ron trekked up stairs. Their dorm mates had decided to make an early night of it, and the room was dark. Harry was silently grateful, as he just wanted to finish his nighttime ablutions and go to sleep. The next day, he knew, would set the tone for things to come at Hogwarts.

Harry dreamt that night of the events in the Chamber, except his dreams were not faithful to what had happened. In his dream, Harry ran for what felt like hours from a basilisk he could not risk looking at. Unlike many a normal dream, where Harry would anticipate something that never came before waking, the basilisk did eventually catch him, fangs piercing him through his stomach and back. This time there was no Fawkes the phoenix to heal him, though the sensation of dying was faithful to his prior experience. As he lay on the cold hard and damp floor of the Chamber of Secrets, he saw Ginny's dead eyes looking through him.

Harry awoke with a start, around the point that his dream self would have died. Beyond his curtain, he could hear his dorm mates moving about, making a better than normal effort to be mindful of their sleeping roommates. He listened to them, using the noises they made to anchor him to the real world, letting the dream fade away.

Eventually, he decided that he was ready to face the world. He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before worming his way through the opening in his bed curtains.

"Thought you'd sleep longer," said Ron, upon noticing Harry.

Harry shrugged. He would have liked to have slept longer, if not for the nightmare. He was no longer exhausted, as he had been when he had gone to bed the night before, but he still lacked the refreshed feeling of a good night's sleep.

"Hey, Neville," he said, noticing the boy beyond Ron's bed. "I heard you punched a sixth year."

Neville looked very put on the spot as he stared at Harry.

"Er," he said, "yeah. I don't think he noticed, actually, with everything else going on. I mean, he was so tall, my fist barely reached his face."

Seamus laughed. "The guy was huge. You should have gone for his stomach, Neville."

"Well, it's the thought that counts," said Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry, "thanks for having my back."

Neville, who looked about ready to dart off due to being the center of attention, said, "The guy shouldn't have said what he did, is all."

Harry didn't want to know what the other boy had said, and didn't ask. Deciding instead to get dressed.

"So what actually happened yesterday?" asked Seamus.

Ron, always willing to tell a story, took up the telling this time, and Harry was grateful. Of course, he was judicious in his telling, leaving out things like parceltongue and Ginny's exact role in everything. Harry finally got to hear exactly what had happened when he and Ron had been separated in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The formerly respected former defense professor got sneers of derision from Harry's dorm mates.

"I can't believe he got knocked out from behind twice!" said Dean. "No wonder he retired to teach."

Apparently deciding that Harry was suitably committed to living, Ron finally left out the part with the basilisk fang, making it sound as though, after hearing Harry slay the basilisk, he and the twins had snuck in just in time to see a brief stand off between Harry and Riddle, before Harry had destroyed the diary with the basilisk fang. The other boys were transfixed. Harry was glad to hear a version of the story where he didn't nearly die. It chased the nightmare further away.

"But then the craziest thing happened. The headmaster's phoenix just flew right at Harry and nocked him on his back. And then it cried in his eyes! You know how they have healing abilities right? Harry doesn't need his glasses now."

The shocked boys, who hadn't noticed that Harry wasn't wearing his glasses anymore, turned to look at him in amazement. Sheepish, Harry ran a hand through his hair.

"It was pretty cool, actually," he said awkwardly. He still wasn't comfortable with being the center of attention as a hero, but it certainly beat being the villain.

Later, as Ron and Harry walked down to Professor McGonagall's office, Harry leaned in towards Ron to say, "Thanks for leaving out the weirder parts."

"Oh, the weirder parts. Is that what we're calling them now?" asked Ron.

Harry shrugged, realizing that Ron was still angry about it. He resolved not to bring it up again, an easy resolution. His feet became a little sluggish as they approached the office door. Professor McGonagall had clearly been upset with him when she had left her office the day before, but had not been able to say anything at the time. Now she could, and Harry would be a captive audience.

Harry nocked on the door, and was bidden to enter. Ron poked his head in after him.

"Had you wanted to see me too?" he asked. "The twins weren't sure."

"No Mr. Weasley," said Professor McGonagall. "Mr. Potter will be eating here. You should go do the same in the Great Hall."

"See you, Harry," said Ron, ducking out.

"Sit down," said Professor McGonagall. She waved her wand and breakfast appeared on her desk. She gestured for him to serve himself.

"Professor Dumbledore will be speaking to the student body at breakfast today," she said as Harry began eating. "I felt it best to spare you from having to be there when he is talking about you."

Harry swallowed hard. He wondered what would be said, or if the professor would be able to convince everyone of the truth. Still feeling uncertain, Harry served himself a small portion of eggs and toast, ignoring the richer foods that had been laid out; He wasn't very hungry. He waited for Professor McGonagall to serve herself, but she only sat there looking at him. Feeling very awkward, Harry began eating, and they sat there in silence until he finished his food a few minutes later. Finally, he set his silverware down.

"I must apologize, Harry," Professor McGonagall finally said. "When you seemed determined to kill yourself on the quidditch pitch, I thought it to be a matter of excess energy and bravado. Had I realized that you truly had a death wish, I would have taken steps to ensure your safety."

Harry had a hard time deciphering her tone. It seemed to be sincere and exasperated at the same time. "I don't have a death wish," he protested.

"I could almost believe that," said Professor McGonagall, her voice almost gentle, but containing an edge. "Were it not for your stunts throughout the year. I can't help but wonder if you finally saw an excuse to kill yourself in the Chamber of Secrets."

"I was trying to do the right thing!" Harry protested.

"And how does trading one innocent life for another sound like the right thing?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"But it wasn't just about saving Ginny, was it?" asked Harry. "It was about saving Ginny, and killing Voldemort."

"And the only thing you could think to do was to stab yourself with a basilisk fang? Almost, I could believe your actions were only practical, but how did such a thought even enter your head?"

"It was just an idea!" he cried. "It just came to me."

"And how often do you think about dying that a thought like that would just come to you?"

"I don't want to die!" Harry cried, true anguish and sincerity bleeding into his voice. "I don't want to die," he repeated, "but I'm going to die anyway, so why run away from it. I'm going to die, so why not die for Ginny."

She gave him a hard stare. "What foolishness is this?"

"I'm not going to grow up and have kids," said Harry, wiping some snot from his nose with his handkerchief. "Voldemort's going to come back, and it's up to me to kill him for good. Professor Dumbledore said so, it's prophecy. And I mean to do it, too. I'll kill him if it's the last thing I do. But I think the chances of it being the last thing I do are pretty high, wouldn't you think?" Though most likely, not for the reasons she _would_ think. People say my parents were talented, but they didn't last long. And if I do survive, then what are the chances of me surviving when his followers want revenge on me? So no, I don't think I'll have long to live."

"Professor Dumbledore believes this to be true?" asked Professor McGonagall breathlessly.

"He says he means for me to live," said Harry, "but I still don't see how."

She swallowed. "When Professor Dumbledore says something," she said, "it has a habit of happening."

Harry swallowed past a knot in his throat and nodded.

"Then when you were in the Chamber, you believed that killing Riddle would fulfill the prophecy?"

Harry had a choice then. To lie, and let things lie as they were, or to correct the misinterpretation that his words had so easily created.

"Yeah," he said. "I thought I had to." He wondered if she would still call him Harry if she knew the truth.

!

"As many of you have no doubt already heard," said Albus as he looked out at the assembled students in the Great Hall, "the beast has been slain, and Slytherin's heir defeated. Even more spectacularly, Miss Weasley, who had been presumed dead, has been returned to us healthy and whole. Finally, those who were petrified will be awoken today when the restorative drought is completed."

There were a few hoots and hollers from around the student body, but the majority of students could hear the distinct lack of joviality that usually filled his voice.

"There are few here who deserve to celebrate this morning. I must say that I am disappointed with you. Certainly, there are those among you who have no need for shame, but they are not in the majority. For you see, the evil that invaded this castle tested us all, and where I failed to help bring out the best in you, many of you allowed fear to guide you towards acts that you perhaps would not have believed yourself capable of. These actions have brought shame to this school.

"I mentioned a number of amazing feats before. With the exception of the restorative draught, they were all accomplished, with no small amount of help from his friends, by Mister Potter. A boy who has been tormented, cursed, and beaten by the students of this school. I speak not only of the savage attack that was perpetrated by only a few. I speak of the numerous students who jinxed him behind his back, who tripped him in the hall, or treated him by word or gesture as though he were guilty. In spite of all of this, Mr. Potter chose to behave with courage that befits his house. He has proved himself twice these last two years, which is two more times than any student should have to. He never deserved your suspicion, he never owed you an alibi, and he never should have had to fear his fellow students.

"In a moment, breakfast will be served, but for many of you I suggest that you take a moment to reflect on your actions this year, and ask yourself if you acted in a way to bring pride to yourself and your house. Lastly, I was never given the chance to address the attack on Mr. Potter, before I left the school. This was behavior not tolerated in Hogwarts. The culprits have until dinner time tonight to reveal themselves to me should they wish leniency. That is all."

!

Minerva gave Albus a hard stare. "What in Merlin's name were you thinking?" she demanded.

Albus looked at her nonplussed. "You shall have to be more specific," he said in his usual, butter won't melt in my mouth, innocent manner. "I have so many thoughts, it is hard to keep track."

Her lips thinned. "What were you thinking when you told Mister Potter that there was a prophecy saying that he had to face down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

A single blink was all that betrayed the fact that he was surprised that she knew. "I should think that that was obvious," he said without missing a beat.

"Obvious?!" asked McGonagall.

"I told him in the desperate hope, a last effort, of getting him to guard his own life."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You mean to say that you only told him yesterday?"

A mere quirk of Albus's lips told her that she had been had by the boy. Albus sighed. "It makes you wonder what manner of home the Dursleys created to make the boy so adept at hiding his problems."

"What problem?" asked Minerva. "What don't I know?"

"Alas, that secret is not mine to tell."

"Do not give me that, Albus Dumbledore. I am his head of house, his guardian. In this school, I am the closest thing that he has to a parent. If there is something that I need to know, then tell me."

"Were the situation any different, then I would tell you what you need to know about Mister Potter. But I believe that if we are to have any hope of helping Mr. Potter through this, then he must feel empowered over his own destiny. To take the decision away from him of who to tell, and who not, would only hurt matters."

"What secret could be so bad that Mr. Potter wishes to die?"

"He does not want to die," said Albus. "It would be easier, perhaps, if it were that simple. No, he wants to live. He merely has strong reason to believe that the world would be better off if he died, and he is selfless enough to see to it that it happens."

She paled. "I can see no way in which the world would be a better place without him."

"An admirable sentiment. However, there is a very real issue at hand that Mr. Potter's prolonged existence would in fact complicate. I have been spending the past year trying to find a solution that does not involve his death, and will continue to do so."

They stood there for a moment in silence. Finally, Minerva spoke.

"Is there anything that I can do?"

"I am afraid that this involves matters of magic that are far outside of your experience, and there are others that I can call upon if I need some leg work to be expended. No, Minerva, I believe that all you can do is continue to support the boy. As a guardian, and as a teacher. I believe that he does intend to learn as much as he can. Should he come to you hoping to learn magics that you would not normally impart to a student of his age, then I would ask you to, within your own judgement, help him where you can. I think that if we are to have any hope of helping him to survive this, then we must do what we can to empower him."

"Is it your intention to treat him as an adult?" asked Minerva warily. It was something that you learned as an instructor. Though there were many students who were quite brilliant, seeming beyond their years, it could be perilous to treat them as miniature adults.

"No Minerva, I think that that would be just as dangerous to him. We must tread a thin line. Empower him, but let him know that he can expect the guidance and protection from us that any child should."

She nodded. "Very well," she said. "Good afternoon, Albus."

"Good afternoon, Minerva," he said. "One other thing, though. Do make certain that he does not do anything too foolish on that broom you got for him."

!

The day was a long one. The school environment was a lot better than before for Harry, there was certainly a cessation of hostility. But things still weren't back to normal. Granted, Harry had always been the focus of a lot of attention at Hogwarts, but he still had many more eyes on him than he would have considered appropriate. People were also staying away from him, he supposed because they were embarrassed, or something. He was uncomfortable with it, but he much preferred it to the way things had been before. On the up-side, Hermione joined them in classes after lunch.

The professors all seemed to be very happy with him. He supposed that they didn't know the details that Ron had made Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore privy to. They were all smiling at him (potions was not on that day's schedule), and only called on him when he raised his hand. He supposed that they were all happy to not have had a student die on their watch.

That evening, Professor Dumbledore gave out a lot of points to Gryffindor for the lot of them, even the twins, and put Harry, Ron, and Hermione's names on a plaque for special services to the school. Harry didn't care much about the points, which put them back into play for the house cup after the two hundred point loss earlier in the year, but he was very happy for the plaque. He had never won any sort of thing before. Even more exciting, Hagrid returned to the school mid-way through dinner, and the big grin on Harry's face felt foreign after so long without anything to be happy about. He had been released the day before, but had had to be checked out at St. Mungo's before returning, though he wouldn't say why.

Just as the excitement from Hagrid's return was dying down, the students who had just been un-petrified were released from the hospital wing to get dinner. There was even more excitement for this, of course, as friends were reunited. Notably absent was Professor Lockhart, which Harry thought was for the best. Hermione elbowed Harry in the side and gave him a pointed look just as he was about to return to his meal. When he turned to question her about what she wanted, she pointed at Colin Creevey, who was looking somewhat downtrodden with a somewhat lost expression on his face. Harry sighed. He had been feeling a little guilty about shouting at the kid, and about him being petrified, but he hadn't been planning on actually _doing_ anything about it. However, Hermione was glaring at him in such a way that he knew that she would keep nagging at him if she didn't get her way.

Scowling, Harry got up from the table and made his way to where Colin had taken a seat with some other first years. He took a seat next to the boy, who had gotten very wide eyed at his presence.

"Hey Collin," said Harry a little awkwardly. "Glad to see you're all better, there."

Collin gaped at him for a moment, for once at a loss for words, before he started gushing.

"Oh wow! Thanks Harry. It's so cool that you saved us from the monster and woke us up and everything!"

"What, no, I wasn't the one who woke you up," Harry protested.

Somehow Collin didn't hear him, but turned to his friends to explain that, "He killed a hundred meter long basilisk-"

"It was really more like thirty," Harry tried to butt in.

"-and then he killed Slytherin's heir in a duel!"

"That's not what..." Harry trailed off; giving up, he got up to go back to his seat.

"Oh, hey, Harry!" Collin called after him.

Thinking quickly, Harry turned and gave a thumbs up to Collin, smiling and saying, "Yeah, see you around."

"See you, Harry!"

Harry beat a hasty retreat. Hermione was very happy with him.

An owl brought a letter to Harry after dinner. It was from Professor McGonagall, requesting that he join her in her office before going back up to the common room. Harry sighed. He hoped that he wasn't in trouble again. He'd just started getting used to the feeling of being in the clear of things.

It seemed as though Harry wasn't the only person making amends that night, for on his way up to Professor McGonagall's office, he was accosted by Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Hey, Harry, er, Potter," he said awkwardly.

"Hey," said Harry guardedly.

"I just wanted to say, sorry for suspecting you, and everything that I said that night." He held his hand out to Harry.

Harry gazed at it uncertainly.

"Also, I promise I won't tell anyone what you said. I mean, I'm sure you never meant to say it in the first place, so..."

Nodding, Harry shook his hand briefly. With everything that had happened, he had forgotten that he had been worried about Justin knowing. He still didn't know how he felt about the other boy though.

"Right," said Harry. "Um, I need to go see Professor McGonagall."

"Right, yeah," said Justin, who seemed to be feeling a lot better about things than Harry was. Harry walked on.

Professor McGonagall bade him to enter when he knocked.

"I'm not in trouble again, am I?" he asked.

"No, Harry, not today," Professor McGonagall replied, gesturing for him to sit down. "But other students are, and that is why you are here."

"Is this about the guys that attacked me?" asked Harry, biting his lip. There was a part of him that didn't want to know.

"It is indeed," said Professor McGonagall. "Between Professor Dumbledore and myself, we believe we have rooted all of them out. With two exceptions, they are all being suspended for the duration of the school year, coming back only for either OWLs or NEWTs."

"And the exceptions?" asked Harry.

Professor McGonagall slid a piece of parchment across her desk. It was a list of names, including year and house information. She pointed to the name at the top. "Mr. Braddock, who after being caught showed both a great deal of cooperation and remorse will be spending most of his free time in detention for the remainder of the year." Harry nodded to show that he understood. Professor McGonagall then pointed to the name just under Braddock. "Mr. Nielsen was identified as the ring leader, and unlike the rest, did not give himself up when given the opportunity. Because of this, and other factors from his disciplinary record, the decision has been made to expel him. It was feared that there could be further violence from him."

Again, Harry nodded. He hesitated for a moment, but still unsure of himself, he spoke up anyway. "Will they snap his wand, like they did Hagrid's?" he asked.

"No," said Professor McGonagall, her voice neutral, betraying nothing of what she thought of the question or the answer. "He has passed the necessary OWLs, and the ministry will not likely take any action against him. This is a school matter, and it is not within our power to snap wands."

"Okay," said Harry, for some reason feeling the slightest bit relieved. He couldn't understand why. Why should he feel good that the boy hadn't faced a harsher punishment? Wasn't he within his rights to be crying for blood? He sighed discontentedly. "Was there anything else, Professor?"

"Just one thing more," she said. "This has been a trying year for you, Harry. I wanted you to know that if you feel you need any help with your lessons, you can come to me. Remember that exams are only a couple of weeks away."

"I think I'm doing okay," said Harry, who was surprised to note that it was true, "but I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do," said Professor McGonagall. "Also, know that you can come to me for non-academic reasons as well. I'm here to help you, Harry, however I can. Now go and get some rest. We'll be very busy tomorrow."

Glad to be dismissed, Harry bid her farewell and left to go to the common room. On his way, he examined the list of names that Professor McGonagall had given him. He was relieved to see that he didn't know any of the students on it, though he did recognize the two names from Gryffindor. He couldn't picture them though. He wondered if they were gone already.

Ron waved him over to where he and Hermione were sitting when Harry returned to the common room. Harry's trip to Professor McGonagall's office had been the first time they had really been apart since the professor had spilt them up that morning.

"Hey, guys," said Harry. "I think I'm going to go to bed early tonight."

"Are you feeling okay?" asked Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I'm just beat."

"Alright, Harry," said Hermione, "we'll see you tomorrow."

"'Night, Harry," said Ron.

"'Night, guys," said Harry, before making his way up to the boys dormitory.

It wasn't so much that he was tired, though he was. He had a lot on his mind though, and while he was probably going to talk to his friends about it all anyway, he wanted to get his thoughts ordered first.

Neville was already in bed when Harry got up to the dorm, and he gave Harry a tired wave through his bed curtains when Harry came in.

"Night Neville," said Harry. He was part way through changing into his pajamas when there was a popping sound that came from his own bed.

Turning quickly, Harry saw the bloody and savaged form of Dobby the house elf. In one hand, the elf clutched a white blood-stained glove. "Harry Potter," he croaked out, before he slumped, insensate, into Harry's mattress.

His heart hammering in his chest, Harry scooped the elf up into his arms before racing out of his dorm and down the stairs into the common room, uncaring of the fact that he was clad in only his boxers and socks.

"Help!" he cried to the mostly full common room. "Help!"

Percy reached him first. "What happened, Harry?" he asked.

"It's Dobby," said Harry, "the Malfoy's house elf. They knew he helped me, and now he just appeared like this on my bed."

Percy began casting quick spells on the house elf, who still lay in Harry's arms. As he incanted, Harry's friend's reached him, and Hermione put her arms around Harry's shoulders. After a minute, Percy stopped. Dobby looked only a little better, and still looked like he was only inches from death.

"I've done what I can," said Percy. "He needs Madam Pomfrey."

Harry nodded, and tore off across the common room.

"Harry, your clothes!" someone shouted after him, he thought it was Percy, but he couldn't be bothered to pay attention. He shot out through the portrait hole and ran as fast as his feet would carry him down to the infirmary. Dobby's weight hardly seemed any encumbrance at all. When finally he reached Madam Pomfrey's domain, he planted one sock clad foot on one of the double doors and pushed it open.

"Madam Pomfrey!" he cried out, though he needn't have. Madam Pomfrey was writing notes at a little desk near the entrance. Harry deposited Dobby on the nearest bed and stepped back so Madam Pomfrey could do her work.

"He just appeared," said Harry, his heart still pounding in his chest. "Percy tried to heal him as best as he could, but he said that he needed you." He stopped to catch his breath.

"Oh child," said Madam Pomfrey, turning from where she had started to examine Dobby, "this creature is dead."

"What? No," said Harry. "He can't be dead. I got him here as fast as I could! I ran as fast as I could. Percy said he needed you, so I brought him."

She looked down at him sadly.

"No!" said Harry more forcefully. "Keep healing him, you'll see. He's got to be in a lot of pain, that's why he fell unconscious. You need to heal him."

"Come here, Harry," said Madam Pomfrey gently. She led Harry over to the bed and had him kneel down next to it. She took his hand and placed it on Dobby's chest. It was still.

"You never could have brought him fast enough, Harry," she said. "His heart stopped on your way down, and it was too late for me to try to start it again."

Harry started to cry, pushing away from Dobby's bed. "It's all my fault," he said in anguish. "I shouldn't have said anything! Why did I say his name?! I as good as killed him!"

"Hush, Harry. It's not your fault."

"It is!" cried Harry. Behind him, he heard someone enter the hospital wing. He turned to see Professor Dumbledore, omniscient as always in his comings and goings.

"What are we going to do?" Harry demanded. "What's going to happen to Malfoy?"

Professor Dumbledore took in the scene before him and sighed with deep sadness.

"Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "If Lucius Malfoy is found to have committed any crimes, he will likely pay a fine for improperly punishing a house elf."

"HE GAVE GINNY THE DIARRY," Harry shouted. "HE MURDERED DOBBY!"

"There is no proof that Lucius gave Ginny the diary, or at least nothing that we could use against a man as powerful as him. We may be able to show that he was the one to kill Dobby, but the Wizengamot will not call that murder, Harry."

"WELL THAT'S BOLLOCKS," shouted Harry, stalking towards the infirmary door. "IT'S ALL BOLLOCKS!"

"Harry!" the headmaster called after him.

"I want to be alone," Harry called back.

!

Harry shivered uncontrollably in the cold night air atop the astronomy tower. Somehow, he always wound up there. He usually wore more clothes though. He didn't care though; he didn't want to be anywhere else.

Why was it always someone else who died in Harry's stead? Voldemort should have killed him easily eleven years ago, yet his mother died instead. Quirrel should have killed Harry easily, yet Quirrel was dead, and Harry was alive. Almost, Ginny had been drawn into this pattern, and now Dobby was dead. And it all came down to Harry. He had been earnest when he had told Professor McGonagall that he wanted to live, but in that moment, he would't have been able to come up with such conviction.

It was Ron and Hermione who came and found him. He supposed that one of the professors had looked for him in the common room, alerting them to the fact that he was missing. After everything, it would have been easy for Ron to figure it out.

"Harry!" Hermione called over the sound of the wind. "What are you doing?"

Mulishly, Harry refused to respond. In turn, Hermione ignored this clear message to leave him alone, and sat down on the ground next to him. She'd brought a robe with her, and she wrapped it around him. Ron sat down close on Harry's other side, putting his arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry still shivered, but immediately started feeling warmer.

"Thanks," Harry finally said. He took a deep breath before standing up, putting the robe on properly. "Let's go."

Ron had the invisibility cloak with him, and they all huddled together on their way to Gryffindor tower. Harry told them about about his role in Dobby's death, and what the headmaster had told him about Malfoy.

"One day I'm going to go after Voldemort," he said finally. "When I do, I hope that Malfoy gets in my way."

Ron voiced his approval of the sentiment. Harry felt Hermione shiver next to him. He told himself that it was from the cold.

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I don't have much of an excuse. Also, sorry I couldn't go one chapter without something bad happening to Harry. I have a problem, I know. But to make up for it, Harry is going on vacation next chapter. If you like, you could give me some suggestions of where he might go.

Also, my beta, The Lord of Chaos, has posted a new story, called Blood. It is a 3rd year Severitus fic that looks very promising. The first chapter is up, and the second one should be coming soon.


	14. 13 Vacation

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. This is probably a good thing, as Harry was in much safer hands with JK.

Vacation

Dear Journal,

Today, I buried Dobby by the lake, on the far side.

Professor Dumbledore helped me, and Ron and

Hermione came too. It was really sad. I really

wish Lucius Malfoy were there, so I could have

punched him in the face stomach. As it turns out,

I might not be tall enough to properly punch him in

the face. Exams are starting soon, and Hermione's

making us study hard. I guess I asked her to make

sure I learn a lot, so I can't complain. She's making

me get an 'artistic hobby' so I've decided to play an

instrument. This works out well, since there's not

much I can do about that until after term. Not sure

what I'll pick.

R.I.P. Dobby

!

Petunia Dursley fell to the ground as the portkey deposited her in a small dusty room. Quickly standing up, she brushed herself off before harumphing and standing with her arms folded in front of her chest. She didn't want to move one inch but, considering that she was completely on her own, she knew she would have to.

She was on 'vacation'. Of course, there would have been a time when she would have been perfectly happy to be sent to a tropical island, but how could she be, given the circumstances? Dumbledore had promised her, in the beginning, that she could see her son when she wasn't needed at the school, but now it was just the opposite. Through the school year, she had seen her son a total of three times, and now she wouldn't see him again until she returned there. It was all so that she would think of the school as home. She wouldn't have thought that this would have worked, but the old fool seemed happy enough with the state of his wards.

And so she found herself alone on some island. What was worse was that she had no resources. She had a few changes of clothes, a few necessities, and a very small apartment rented under a false name. The bare necessities of food would be brought to her every week, if the old fool kept his promise. If she wanted anything more, she would have to work for it. As it was, she couldn't even pay for a bus to get her to the beach.

Everything was arranged by Dumbledore. Considering how he had micro-managed her life in the school, and the way his eyes had glittered at her, as though he were laughing at some joke that only he knew, she thought that he rather got off on making her dance to his tune. There was a job as a dishwasher at a restaurant a few blocks away from her that would be expecting her in a few weeks, though she could show up earlier if she wanted. If she didn't show up by the pre-arranged date though, she would have to find a different job on her own.

As she looked around the bare apartment, and looked out the window at a very un-scenic view, she knew that she would cave in eventually and wash the damned dishes. It wasn't as though she could get another job without knowing the local language, and as stubborn as she was, she had no intention of spending her whole summer holed up in this measly apartment, just barely getting by. She wasn't some lay-about, and she would be damned if she lived in squalor. In the meantime though, she would stay put. There was no need to give the old fool the satisfaction of giving in right away. The apartment needed work anyway.

Thoughts that entered her head of finding a British embassy or consulate and getting help, quickly left. It would be useless, she knew. Dumbledore had explained that she would be quite unable to explain her situation to anyone; she would only babble if she tried. Remembering how they had fumbled in explaining away Dudley's pigs tail two years prior, she knew she wouldn't be able to make an even greater fool of herself. She was on her own.

The worst part though was that she didn't even know how long she would be there. She wore a wretched necklace that would spirit her away back to the school when she was needed back, and not one moment sooner or later. Not for the first time, she cursed her wretched life.

!

For the first time in Harry's life, summer break was better than school. Not only were there no Dursley's, but he got to take trips. Spending a whole summer at Hogwarts would have meant no long lists of chores, no pretending he didn't exist, and no one trying to beat the stuffing out of him. He could eat as much as he wanted, use the quidditch pitch and library when he wanted. Most importantly, as long as he stayed away from Snape, which wasn't difficult, no one looked at him as though he were something unpleasant that they had stepped in. Harry wouldn't say that he was happy to have been beaten into a coma, but with his new accommodations, he didn't exactly feel all that bad about it either. For the first time, Harry was starting to think that maybe fate would take a break on him.

However, a suitable standard of care was not the only reason that Harry was enjoying his summer. Seeing no need for Harry to spend his whole summer locked up alone in a castle, Professor McGonagall had made arrangements for Harry to vacation with his classmates. Hogwarts footed the bill, and Harry got to travel. He had first gone to the Amazon with Neville, and his grandmother and great uncle. They had taken a magical river cruise up the length of it, occasionally stopping to visit the local native wizards. Apparently there was a large trade of magical plants and ingredients that could only be found in the Amazon. Neville had been able to bring a couple of plants home, but it was his great uncle who really stocked up on supplies from village to village.

Harry managed to learn a lot more about his roommate, though Neville had secrets of his own. He had told Harry about growing up with his grandmother on the Longbottom estate. He had kept his face perfectly blank when he told Harry that he had lived with her since he had been a baby, and Harry, long experienced in keeping private matters private, knew not to ask what had happened to Neville's parents.

Neville made for a decent conversationalist, being knowledgeable about a lot of aspects of wizarding culture that Ron didn't have experience in, as well as being curious about muggle life. But that was the only thing Harry knew how to talk to Neville about. Neville enjoyed watching quidditch, but didn't have much interest in discussing it. When they played chess or gobstones, Neville didn't really care much about it past killing time. To put it bluntly, Harry really wished that there were other kids their age on the ship. Fortunately, he wasn't dependent on Neville to stave off boredom, as the sights and the local villages were amazing. He even got to interact with some local youths, though there was a language barrier.

Dear Journal,

Today I met people from the Yanomami tribe.

I didn't realize at first, but they were speaking a

different language than the ones I've been hearing

before on the trip. The kids here were pretty friendly

and I got to play with them. But most of the kids my

age were out in the forest. I had fun anyway, and the

kids who were there had fun showing me around.

Later, we went swimming until I had to go back to the

ship. Dinner was real fancy tonight, with fish that the

crew caught.

After that, he was back at Hogwarts for a couple of weeks before he went to the coast with Dean's family and Seamus. Dean and Seamus had managed to drag him into trouble at times, but as it was the kinds of trouble that didn't involve dark lords, Harry considered the trip to be a success. Dean, who behaved reasonably maturely at school, was much less so on vacation. Their first night at the beach home, Harry had walked through his bedroom door to find a bucket of water had been placed over it. Harry reciprocated by shutting off the hot water the next time Dean was taking a shower, only to discover that it had been Seamus inside instead. This had set a trend for the week. Their last night at the beach had led to a game of truth or dare that led to Harry deciding that he hated the taste of beer.

Dear Journal,

Dean and Seamus made me play volleyball

with some girls on the beach today. I wasn't sure

why, since they didn't seem very interested in the

game, before I realized it was a boy-girl thing.

They were really pretty, but we only just played

volleyball with them. Not sure if Seamus had a

plan, but if he did, it didn't work. I think Dean's sister

figured things out quicker than I did, because she

made fun of him later.

Harry had never considered that he would have his first beer by the age of twelve and three-quarters, but he refused to feel guilty about it. The chances were that he was going to die young, so it only made sense that he got some things done early.

Harry returned to the castle for only a few days before he was sent off to Germany with the Finch-Fletchley's. Because of their rather intense argument the year before, their reconciliation not withstanding, Harry and Justin had hardly known what to say to each other, or even if they should be talking. Harry hadn't been sure whose idea Harry's inclusion in the trip had been, but Harry doubted their faculties. However, the situation had vastly improved when Justin discovered that Harry was learning to play the fiddle. Justin had been playing the violin since he had been old enough to stand, and had offered to help him figure the fiddle out. It was only towards the end of the trip that Justin had considered Harry good enough to play a simple accompaniment when Justin practiced, which he had to do every day. He explained that he had thought that he could stop practicing when he had gone to Hogwarts as, unlike Eton, Hogwarts didn't care about how multitalented he was. His parents, he explained, had only laughed when he had explained this to them.

Dear Journal,

Munich has a lot of cool buildings. We saw

a lot of them today.

I had a thought about girls. What if a girl

falls in love with me? I know some girls have

crushes on me, but can I have a girl friend? I

don't think it would be fair for her if I got one, but

it's not fair for me if I don't.

I don't like the food here.

And so, by the end of the Germany trip, though Harry and Justin weren't the best of friends, they were certainly on good terms. Harry expected that the next term, they would be back to teaming up amicably in Herbology. Later, back at the castle, Harry reflected that it would be good to have more friends around the castle. Maybe then it would be harder for the student body to turn against him.

Harry had asked Professor McGonagall if he could maybe go to France with the Grangers, but she had looked scandalized just at the thought of it. She had said something about the impropriety of a young wizard traveling with a young witch. Harry, who so far only had a mild interested in girls, had thought this to be terribly silly, but knew better than to try to argue the point. Before speaking to Professor McGonagall, he had owled Hermione about the possibility. She had cautioned him that should he meet her parents over the summer, he was to mention nothing of the Chamber of Secrets.

For much of the rest of July, Harry was at the castle waiting for the week before his birthday, when he would be going to the Weasleys. The Weasleys weren't going anywhere for the summer, but were happy to have him over regardless, and would hear nothing about Hogwarts paying for them to host him. Harry was looking forward to it more than he had looked forward to any of the other trips that he had taken so far. There weren't any amazing sights to see, but the Weasley's plus Hermione were Harry's favorite people in the world. Harry spent his time waiting for his trip to the Weasley's flying, writing in his new journal, playing his new fiddle, and working on summer homework. The later was not by choice, but by mandate of Professor McGonagall, who had him do homework in her office for an hour a day when she was in the castle, or with Professor Flitwick when she wasn't. The upside of this was that he was mostly finished now, and wouldn't have very much to do by the time he went to stay with the Weasleys.

In addition to his summer assignments, Harry was also spending an hour each day revising Hermione's notes from the last two years. Though she had not yet conceded that Harry had met her conditions to her satisfaction, she had recommended to Harry that he do this before leaving for the summer. She explained that though he had done well enough on his exams, and she had hedged 'well enough' in a tone of voice that made it clear that she would have fallen weeping if she herself had received those marks, he would need to learn the material better, as it was a foundation for everything he wanted to accomplish. Harry was just glad that, since he was at the castle, he was able to use as much magic as he wanted when he was practicing. He focused mostly on Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense, but also worked on Potions and Herbology. Hermione had told him that if he wanted to receive Auror training when he was old enough, he would need a NEWT in Potions, and Hebology would also help with that. Considering that Harry had already faced Voldemort three times in his lifetime, he wasn't sure that he would ever become old enough to receive Auror training, but he supposed that Aurors needed to know potions for a reason, and so he would learn them too.

Finally, Harry was also trying to meditate. For the most part, the only thing he had succeeded in doing was to fall asleep sitting up, but should Hermione ask at the end of the summer, he would honestly be able to tell her that he had devoted an hour each day to trying it. He had read a book about it, but he still hadn't succeeded in achieving the meditative state that it described.

"Harry, what on Earth is that dreadful noise?" asked Professor McGonagall as she walked into the Gryffindor common room.

"I'm practicing my fiddle, professor," Harry answered with a frown. He had thought that he had gotten past the 'noise' stage.

"And when was the last time you tuned it?" his head of house asked. "Or did you spend an entire week and a half with mister Finch-Fletchly without learning how?"

Harry frowned. "Oops," he said, as he started experimentally turning the tuning knobs. "Hold on," he said, "is that why you sent me to Germany with him? So I'd stop making noise?"

"That," conceded Professor McGonagall, "and to perhaps turn a former enemy into a friend."

Harry looked at her askance. Had he perhaps not been the only Gryffindor that the hat had considered for Slytherin? He didn't dare voice the thought aloud.

"Did you just come to tell me to tune my fiddle?"

"No, Harry," she said. "There has been a change of plans, it seems that you will be going to Egypt."

"Egypt?" asked Harry with a frown. "But I thought I was going to see Ron, and his family."

"Mr. Weasley the senior has just won the Daily Prophet's Thousand Galleon Draw," said Professor McGonagall. "They have decided to use the funds to visit their oldest, William, in Egypt."

"And I get to go with them?" asked Harry excitedly.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter."

"I should go pack then," said Harry, turning towards his dorm excitedly. "Um, what should I pack?" he asked sheepishly, turning around to face the professor again.

"What you took to the coast should do nicely," said Professor McGonagall. "Tomorrow, I will take you to buy some appropriate necessities for the desert."

"Thanks, Professor," said Harry.

"It is of little bother, Harry," said Professor McGonagall. "I dare say, we could both do with getting away from the castle. When was the last time you were out in the sun?"

"I went flying yesterday," said Harry.

Professor McGonagall looked at him askance. "Well you're still awfully pale. Are you feeling alright?"

"I um, think I'm coming down with something, actually," Harry admitted.

"You do recall that Madam Pomfrey is back from her vacation, don't you?" asked Professor McGonagall.

As Harry had sat next to her at dinner the night before, it was a rhetorical question. Harry shrugged.

"I didn't want to bother anyone," he said.

Professor McGonagall gave him a stern look. "Yes, Mr. Potter, at a full five minutes, your visit to Madam Pomfrey would have completely disrupted her day. Please go see her after lunch."

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry, a tad abashedly.

"Do remember, Harry, we're here to take care of you," said the Professor.

"I know," said Harry, "but it is summer."

"And as a ward of the castle, you are entitled to our care during the summer. I assure you, you are not so demanding a child as to be an imposition."

Harry knew a certain dungeon dwelling professor whose opinion differed strongly, as the man had a habit of telling him so, but he didn't bring this up.

"So um, when do I leave for Egypt then?" he asked.

"In two days," she answered.

"Oh wow, I should go pack then."

"After lunch, Harry," said Professor McGonagall, with a tone of voice that Harry was starting to recognize as fond exasperation. "It will hardly take you so long to pack."

!

Harry wondered if this was what it was like to have a summer home somewhere. The Dursley's had long talked about having a summer home in Majorca, and though Harry had doubted that he would have been invited, he had wondered what it would be like to live in two places. It had seemed like an odd idea then, but if this was how it felt like, then Harry supposed that he had been wrong. Hogwarts was home, but somehow, so was the Burrow. There was a sense of warm contentment that filled him upon his arrival that he had not felt in the Longbottom, Thomas, or Finch-Fletchley homes.

He, Ron, and the twins had spent the entire day playing quidditch after Harry's arrival, and for a change they were all exhausted before bedtime. As a consequence, the living room was quiet that evening for the first time that Harry could remember. Harry was lying on the carpet perusing a quidditch magazine near Ron, who was sorting through his Chocolate Frog Card collection on the couch. Suddenly, something in the magazine piqued his interest.

"Hey, Ron," he said.

"What's up?" asked Ron.

"You ever seen this before?" he asked, sitting up to show Ron a full paged ad.

Ron blinked at the page a couple of time. "Um, yeah," he said. "Wait, the sloth-grip-roll diagram or the chess-by-mail club?"

"The club," said Harry. "I thought it sounded like something you'd like."

Ron shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I'd never really thought about it."

Harry went back to reading the ad. "This is perfect for you, you know," he said. "After you beat McGonagall's chess set, I bet you'd rise through the ranks on this."

"You think so?" asked Ron.

"Please," said Harry, leaning up against the couch's armrest. "Besides, who's ever beaten you at chess?"

Ron became pensive. "It's been a long time since anyone has. But I don't think Errol's up to it."

"That settles it then," said Harry, "Hedwig never has anywhere to go anyway. Besides, if I have to have a hobby, then so do you." His face fell. "Which I forgot to do today. Along with meditating and my journal."

"You've really been doing all of that?" asked Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Or, I've been trying, anyway. I mostly just fall asleep when I try to meditate, and I never know what to write about. I've gotten pretty decent with the fiddle though."

Ron snickered. "I still can't picture you playing an instrument."

"Well, you'll be have plenty of opportunities to see it up close and personal coming up," said Harry, standing up. He had a lot to do before bed. "I don't know, I can barely draw a straight line, so I figured music would be a better bet than art."

"Sure," said Ron following after him, "but why the fiddle."

Harry shrugged, heading up to the room that he and Ron shared. "Seemed cool. The witch at the music store told me I had the fingers for the violin, but I thought the fiddle sounded like more fun." In truth, she had played the violin for him, a somber melody that Harry thought complemented him well. This was exactly why he decided against it; he was tired of being somber.

"Well," said Ron, "let's see what you've got."

"Come on then," said Harry. "But mind, I'm just a beginner."

"That doesn't mean I can't tell you if you suck," said Ron.

"Prat," said Harry.

"So what's the difference between the fiddle and the violin?" asked Ron as they entered his room.

"I'm wasn't really sure on that myself," said Harry. "Turns out they're the same thing, I think, but like, if you play classical music, it's a violin, and fun music makes it a fiddle. Or something like that, anyway."

"If you say so," said Ron.

"Mind," said Harry, pulling his fiddle case out of his trunk, "when I played with Justin, we just did classical music, so I guess this was a violin for a little while." He quickly checked to see that the strings were properly tuned, idly wondering if there were a charm that would do it for him, or perhaps one that would keep it tuned forever.

Harry spread out a couple sheets of music and raised the bow at the ready. "Mind," he said again, "I've not even been at this for two months."

"Oh, go on then," said Ron.

"Right," said Harry, before focusing on his music. He started to play.

"Huh," said Ron.

"What's that mean?" asked Harry, stopping.

"Nothing," said Ron. "But don't they play fiddle's faster than that?"

"I suppose you could do better?" asked Harry.

"I was just saying," said Ron, "it wasn't what I was expecting."

Harry started playing again.

"Is that Scottish?" Ron spoke up again.

Again Harry stopped. "Professor McGonagall picked it out for me," he admitted.

Ron snickered. Harry started again.

Ron again interjected, "So, what are-"

Harry glared it him, and Ron pointedly closed his mouth, allowing Harry to continue playing. After a while, Ron lay down on his bed, turning his attention back to his cards.

Harry had three pieces that he was working on, and he cycled through them for the hour he had promised to practice for. One of them was one that Justin had provided, and they were planning to get back together to play now and then at Hogwarts.

Harry wondered at times if playing the fiddle was in good faith of his arrangement with Hermione. She had said specifically that she had wanted him to have an outlet to express himself, and he had deliberately done the opposite. He didn't particularly like who he'd been the last year, and Hermione certainly seemed to have issues with him, so what was the point of playing to that? The fiddle actually was fun sometimes, which Hermione would have to think an improvement. After all, he wasn't doing anything that would risk breaking his own neck.

!

Ron was having a great summer. Harry hadn't died at school; they were heroes again; his mum had been making fantastic puddings ever since what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets. That was all before his dad had won the Daily Prophet's Thousand Galleon Draw. Now Harry had joined them, and they were in Egypt visiting Bill. He just wished that he wasn't pinching knuts.

His parents were planning to get him something nice, he knew, and they'd be happy to fund the entry fee into the chess-by-mail club. But Ron didn't just want something nice, he wanted something nice and practical. That, of course, would cost real galleons. More specifically, he wanted an Olivander wand of his own.

Ron had gotten a few sparks the first time he had held his Uncle Billius's Wand, but it wasn't quite what a wizard wanted in a new wand. His parents were planning to buy him his own wand his OWL year, like they had Percy. With Percy out of the house by then, or at least bringing some money home, they'd be able to afford it with all of their other school supplies. The Twins had been lucky, they hadn't had any reaction from any of the old family wands. Of course, money had been tight their first year as a result.

The problem was that Ron didn't think that he could afford to wait for his fifth year at Hogwarts to get a good wand. With two years at Hogwarts, he had faced down death on four occasions, never mind that Harry regularly kept him on his toes.

"Hey, Mum," said Ron, slowing down as they walked away from the small Cairo portkey hub. They were on their way to their hotel. His mother slowed down to match his speed.

"What is it, Ronnie, you do have everything don't you, because we can't just go back."

"No," said Ron exasperatedly, "I've got everything. It's just that I've been thinking that with the way things have been going at Hogwarts, Ginny and I should have our own wands now, instead of later."

They'd never be able to afford anything extra with two wands to buy with everything else. Ron still had his pocket change though, so he thought he would be able to afford the club by the end of the month. It just meant no treats or souvenirs in the mean time.

!

Egypt was fantastic, though Harry wasn't sure which vacation so far was his favorite. Such uncertainty was something he wasn't quite used to; growing up he had seldom had one good thing happen, let alone enough to compare and contrast. He wasn't sure yet whether Egypt was his favorite place to travel to, but the Weasley's were certainly his favorite people to travel with.

They'd been to see a lot already. Ron's oldest brother Bill, who was just as cool as Ron had described him and more, had taken them first to the Egyptian branch of Gringotts. Though it wasn't as busy anymore, it was the oldest Gringotts in existence, and with gold inlaid columns, and fantastic murals, it was considerably more interesting than the branch in England.

Afterward, they'd gone to see a tomb, which was still being guarded by a sphinx. Bill had answered it's riddle, and this was a good thing, as everyone else in the group looked flummoxed. Harry had heard of the sphinx from the tale of Oedipus, and though this one seemed to have a gentle face, he still wouldn't have wanted to face it's wrath.

Through the trip, Bill made sure to oversee the dining. Everything that they ate was good, in Harry's opinion, though there were some flavors that he had had to get used to. Still, he wondered what local dishes Bill was protecting them from trying. He was tempted to order something at random if he ever got the chance to order for himself. On the whole though, he was happy to eat what Bill arranged. Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, always had a somewhat anxious look on her face when she sat down to eat restaurant food. She always ate what Bill arranged, sometimes getting seconds, so Harry didn't think that she didn't like the food. Harry supposed that the woman who always cooked such large meals for her family was uncomfortable not being the one cooking.

Only one thing cast a pall on Harry's enjoyment of the trip, and that was Harry himself. He had thought that he was done with fantasizing, but still, he kept daydreaming about miracles happening. Bill was a trained curse breaker after all, so what if he realized what Harry was? What if he knew something about horcruxes that professor Dumbledore didn't? Harry hated himself just a little bit for his never ceasing ability to torture himself with delusions of salvation. Harry was tempted just to approach Bill about it, but he still didn't know how to say those words out loud.

The morning of Harry's birthday dawned with the hot egyptian sun chasing away the cool night temperatures in a hurry. Though he was up by eight, Harry was already sweating when he reached the small courtyard next to the muggle hotel where a simple continental breakfast was served. Harry still hadn't had a real egyptian breakfast, nor was he sure what one consisted of, since they usually ate breakfast at the hotel, which served english food. Harry got some off-brand Cheerios and a couple of pastries before taking a seat at the table.

He started eating on his own, but didn't have long to wait for company. The Weasley's senior and Bill didn't seem capable of sleeping in either, though they were on vacation. Soon enough, Bill was pulling out a seat next to Harry.

"So, Harry," Bill greeted jovially, "how was skinny-dipping in the Amazon?"

Harry choked on his orange juice before spraying it over his breakfast. "How did you know about that?" he asked, coughing.

"Well, I didn't until you told me," said Bill with a cheeky grin. "My ex sent me this, this morning," he said, handing Harry a magazine clipping. "She thought I should know that Witch Weekly is running pieces on all of your little vacations. They're supposed to be writing about Germany in the next issue, and I bet Egypt won't be far behind it."

Harry scowled at the article, which was really more of a blurb. It had a picture of him at the top, which Bill must have put a freezing charm on for the muggles. Harry was smiling as he played, topless, but with trousers on, with some of the native youth.

Now a Ward of the Castle, Harry Potter has no home

to return to for the summer holidays. But that doesn't

mean that The-Boy-Who-Lived is staying inside a

lonely castle all day. A common perk of his current

situation is to travel with his school mates at the

school's expense.

Above is a picture of him on holiday, enjoying a

river cruise on the Amazon River. As you can see,

he's disrobed some to fit in with the other youth.

With multiple stops to visit local tribes, Harry's had

a chance to have fun while learning about the local

cultures. Mr. Sachet, who took the picture of the

boy savior reports that Harry behaved much like

any other boy his age, though he dutifully

practiced playing his violin every day. When asked

if Harry is any good on it, he declined to comment.

We'll have to wish Harry good luck on mastering

this classical instrument.

Mr. Sachet says that Harry often played games

with and learned from the local youth, making easy

friends in spite of the language barrier. Harry

reportedly went swimming nearly every day, though

Mr. Sachet never said whether Mr. Potter swam

as some of the locals sometimes did, that is to say,

with out a stitch on!

Next week, find out about Harry's trip to Germany,

though we're still trying to find out more about the

mystery trip he took in-between.

Harry tamped down his initial reaction of outrage. It wasn't any of their business what he did on holiday. But he didn't want to lose his cool in front of Bill, who was himself very cool.

"I wish I'd brought a camera with me on that trip," he said nonchalantly. "I wonder if they have any other pictures they could give me."

"Smooth, Harry," said Bill, biting into a danish. "Just don't choke next time someone asks."

"Thanks for the heads-up," said Harry with a touch of exasperation leaking in, stuffing the article into his pocket. "So why do they get to gossip about me, but the Longbottoms get their privacy?" he asked.

Bill sighed. "Usually, the assumption is that celebrities are public property," he said. Harry scowled in turn. "Of course, usually, celebrities have sought out the spot-light."

"You know I got ambushed by a reporter when I was in the hospital?" asked Harry peevishly.

"I'm not surprised," said Bill. "It's not fair, of course, but you're going to need to remember that people are going to pay attention to the things you do in public, a lot more than other people. Depending on the popular opinion, you'll either be held to a higher standard, or you'll be able to get away with murder, as long as you do it with a smile and a wink."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Harry, with his head in his hands.

"Look, I'm no expert, but I've seen how they treat the popular quidditch players and radio sensations. Especially the young ones. I get the feeling you don't want anything to do with them, but they're going to write about you whether or not you talk to them. But if you don't help guide them to an image of yourself that you're comfortable with, they'll just make one up. Chances are, you won't be happy with their choices."

Harry had lost his appetite. "Well, bugger them all."

"Oh, they'd eat that image of you right up, though I think you'd grow exhausted from playing it." He waggled his eyebrows.

It took Harry a moment to understand. "No, not that kind of bugger!" he said louder than he should have. He shifted in his seat, looking around to see if anyone else had heard him before he continued in a quitter voice. "I mean, you know, to hell with them."

"I know what you meant," said Bill. "Harry, this isn't the first time you've been in the news, and it won't be the last. Like I said, I'm no media analyst, but I don't think it's going to stay cute and innocent like this Witch Weekly article. You get a little older, and they won't speculate which parts of the local culture you sampled, they'll start speculating on whether you sampled any of the local girls. Take Tacheus Worth on the Wasps. They never saw him with a girl friend, so they started speculating on whether he was having an affair with his best mate. Of course, I think he just didn't have eyes for anything other than the quaffle, but there you go. The next week, he had a little argument with a store owner in Diagon Alley, and it made Quidditch Quarterly, Witch Weekly, and the Daily Prophet. Suddenly he was having a relationship with a married wizard and had an anger management problem, not because any of that was true, but because if you're famous without being interesting enough for them, they'll make you interesting on their own."

Harry put his head in his hands. "So what you're saying is, I should throw myself off the Great Pyramid today?"

"No," said Bill, "what I'm saying is,... well I'm not sure what I'm saying, other than, be careful, and maybe think about how you want the rest of the world to see you."

"Is 'just Harry' an option?" asked Harry.

"Only if he's terribly interesting, and has a roguish grin. You might want to practice in the mirror."

"The mirror would just make fun of me," said Harry.

"Not if you do it right," said Bill, clearly trying to be a little more cheerful. "By the way, happy birthday."

"Thanks," said Harry.

Bill's parents came down soon after, and the rest of his siblings over the next hour. Harry knew Ron at least would have slept in longer, but they had a tour scheduled. It was indeed to the Great Pyramid, and they were going to see all of the interesting parts hidden from the muggles. Harry never did get a chance to stand on top, though.

Mrs. Weasley excused herself part way through, saying that she had to run a quick errand before lunch. Harry wondered if maybe part of the exhibit had been a little too gruesome for her.

The twins tried to seal Percy up in one of the pyramid's hidden rooms, but Bill had caught on and jinxed their hands to stay in their pockets. Afterwards, Mr. Weasley ushered them all to a small park, which was greener than Harry would have expected in the desert. He blinked owlishly when they got to the picnic area that they were going to use for lunch.

It was colorful, for one. Harry's eyes were drawn to a bright banner which read 'Happy Birthday Harry!' There were streamers hanging from a shade tree and a few balloons. Harry gaped.

"Happy Birthday!" the Weasley's chorused.

Harry gaped. "Oh..." he said without grace. "Wow..." He wasn't quite sure what to say. "Is this all for me?" he asked.

"No," said one of the twins.

"It's for our other friend Harry," said the other.

"I... I've never had a birthday party before," Harry admitted.

"Well check it off your list, Harry, you're getting a Weasley Family Birthday," said Ron, who clapped Harry on the back.

"Thank you!" said Harry. "You guys didn't have to though, really."

"Don't be silly," Mrs. Weasley said fondly. "Now come on then, I tracked down a kitchen I could cook in, don't ask me how. We're having your favorites for lunch."

Harry approached the picnic table to see that his favorite foods were indeed there. "I didn't know you knew what I liked," he said.

"Of course I know," said Mrs. Weasley fondly. "Now tuck in."

Though there were a few local flavors, as Mrs. Weasley hadn't been able to access all of her usual ingredients, Harry found that it was almost like sitting down to the kitchen table at the Burrow. His eyes kept on being drawn to the birthday cake that was in the middle of the table. It wasn't his first, of course, Hagrid had brought him that one. Harry hadn't gotten to eat it, though, as Dudley had gotten to it first.

After filling himself on shepherds pie and various side dishes though, he had no room for cake, and so it was time to open presents. Ron had gotten Harry a leather bracelet popular among the Egyptian wizards for securing their wands along their forearms. Meanwhile, the twins had gotten Harry a small set of magical fireworks.

Sitting amongst all of the Weasley's opening his birthday presents, Harry thought that maybe he had found something more magical than Christmas.

!

Back at the hotel that night, Harry found himself ushered into Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room for a talk. He wracked his brain for a reason why as he took a seat across from them, though he couldn't think of anything.

"Harry," said Mr. Weasley. "There's something that we've been meaning to tell you." Mrs. Weasley made a noise as though to disagree, but she didn't speak up. Mr. Weasley continued on regardless. "It's a matter that does concern you, though being out of the country as we are now, you shouldn't need to worry about it yet."

"What are you talking about?" asked Harry.

"It hasn't made the news here yet," said Mr. Weasley, "as it only happened a couple days ago, but I suspect it will soon. A wizard by the name of Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. He's a Death Eater, one of You-Know-Who's most infamous followers."

"Oh," said Harry, not sure what to make of that. "And he might come after me?" he asked.

"It's more than likely," said Mr. Weasley. "Remember that picture we took for the Daily Prophet the first day we got here?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"Black got a copy of the paper the day before he escaped. Apparently he expressed an interest in doing the crossword. He took the page with our picture on it when he left. The guards also heard him saying, 'He's at Hogwarts'."

A cold pit settled in Harry's stomach, but it quickly dissolved. He felt his resolve firm. He had faced worse, after all.

"Now Harry, there's no real need to worry," said Mrs. Weasley. "Black would have a hard time getting to Egypt any time soon, and the wards on Hogwarts are nigh impenetrable. That being said, I don't want you to go looking for trouble, young man. He is a very dangerous wizard, and he will not hesitate to hurt you, if you give him the chance."

"I don't go looking for trouble," Harry said, a touch heatedly, but he wilted under Mrs. Weasley's glare. "Anymore," he tacked onto his statement. "It's pretty good at finding me either way, though."

"Which is why everyone will be working hard to keep you safe, so you don't need to worry about that," said Mr. Weasley.

"Am I going to have to leave early?" asked Harry.

"I'm afraid so," said Mr. Weasley. "Professor Dumbledore says you can stay the rest of the week. Past that, we risk giving Black the time he needs to gather the resources necessary to get to Egypt through unofficial channels."

"What about you?" asked Harry. "What if he finds you here, instead of me?"

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Which is why we'll be going home too."

Harry frowned and looked down at his lap. He hadn't wanted to wreck things for everyone.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley with a touch of exasperation. "It's Black who ought to be apologizing for upsetting everyone's plans."

"It's for the best anyway," said Mr. Weasley. "They'll need all hands on deck back at the ministry, and I know this one's been missing her kitchen," he said nudging his wife.

"Still," said Harry. "It feels like a poor way to repay you."

"Honestly," said Mrs. Weasley, "says the boy who rescued our daughter. You can call it even, if you must. Now off to bed with you. We still have some fun planned for tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that."

"Good night, Harry," said Mr. Weasley. "And try not to worry about this."

Going back to his room that night, Harry couldn't help but think that Black would be good practice before Voldemort.

A/N: Terribly sorry that this update was so long in coming. I have no excuse.

In other news, my beta The Lord of Chaos, continues to write his new fic Blood. Anyone who was a fan of Isis's Bane: The Goblet of Fire should go check it out, because he wrote most of it.


	15. 14 Memories

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the creation of JK Rowling, I own no part of it.

Memories

**Summer Potter Watch**

As promised, loyal readers, we have

the inside scoop on Harry's excursion to

Germany.

Our regular readers will remember

from our last article concerning Harry

Potter's journey to the Amazon that

the Boy Who Lived is traveling this

Summer with his school mates.

This time, Harry traveled with a

muggleborn boy and his family. From

Berlin to Stuttgart, Harry visited a

number of muggle German landmarks

and museums.

Muggle neighbors to Harry's hotel

room report that the Boy Who

Lived has found a duet partner in

his muggleborn friend. It seems

that Harry continues to practice his

violin every day.

[Translated] "He was very polite,

when he wasn't getting up to

mischief down at the pool side," said

one of their neighbors, who had been

told that Harry was a muggle film

celebrity.

At just twelve years of age, thirteen

at the publishing of this article, it is only

to be expected that Harry can't behave

all the time; after all, boys will be boys!

Young, rich, and internationally famous,

we wonder what's next for the Boy Who

Lived

Next week, find out about Harry's

tour of Egypt!

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered if she was doing the right thing. In only a few days, Harry would only be turning thirteen, and yet here she was plotting to turn him into a fighter.

Not a fighter though; a warrior. A killer.

It was the rational thing to do, of course. If you knew your fate, then it was best to prepare for it; all the better if you're still a teenager. Training to kill Voldemort now was the smart thing to do, she was sure of that. Furthermore, agreeing to train Harry had gotten a number of concessions from him, though she wished she'd had more time to think over her demands. She wondered if she would ever have another opportunity to talk Harry onto a therapist's couch.

But Hermione didn't think it was the _right_ thing. Children weren't supposed to train for war, and Harry was still a child, though she knew better than to tell him so.

Still troubled, Hermione lowered her eyes from the passing scenery to the book she was taking notes on. It was a parent's guide to adolescent health, and it was helpful, but Hermione was tasked with more than just making Harry a healthy teen. The best way to get the information she needed, was to get a consultation. This is what brought her to her current taxi ride, on her way to an Army Career Center.

She had called ahead and made an appointment, and the recruiter saw her only a few moments after she arrived.

"Miss Granger, do come in," said the career advisor from his doorway.

"Thank you for seeing me so promptly," said Hermione.

"It's no problem," said the man. "Though I must say. We've seen an upsurge in female recruits since the integration last year, but it's usually only the boys we see at your age."

"Well, I'm not here to upset your statistics, as it happens. I'm actually here on behalf of a friend. His guardians aren't too keen on him joining, so he isn't able to come himself."

"Well, it's kind of you to come here for him, then. How old is your friend?"

"Harry's going to be thirteen in a few days," said Hermione.

"Well, with his guardian's permission, he could join up in three years. Otherwise he would have to wait until he becomes of age. Now, we do have some programs for youth who are looking to join up, but of course, he would need his guardian's permission for those as well."

"I know, and I wish he could join one of those programs. I think it would do him a lot of good, but it's not really an option. No, what I'm here for, what he's looking for, is some solid advice."

"Physical fitness?"

"That's right," said Hermione.

"Well, now's a great time for him to start. Do you know what his career goals would be?"

"He want's to join the SAS," said Hermione.

"Well, I wouldn't want to discourage him, but you should be sure to tell him that less than ten percent of people who enter SAS training pass through it."

"Is that so?" asked Hermione.

"Oh yes. The selection process is particularly grueling. It takes a great deal of motivation to get through it. Might I ask why your friend is so set on the SAS?"

"Well, you see, he lost his parents to a bombing when he was very young. I guess he's keen on fighting terrorists, and he knows that the SAS is very good at that."

"Tragic," mused the man. "But he'd hardly be the first to join for such a personal reason. The important part is that he know that the military is not a place for personal vendettas."

"Oh, he knows that," said Hermione. "No, the people responsible are long dead. Harry just wants to do his part."

"Well, as I was saying, selection is grueling. Academics are always important if you want to rise in the service, and when he first joins he'll take the BARB, that's the British Army Recruitment Battery, as well as tests on literacy and numeracy, which will help show us what career paths he's suited for. The better he is academically, the more options he'll have when the time comes. It also helps if you know another language; Farsi is becoming a good one to learn.

"Now, he'll want to be in good physical condition, but he hardly needs to be able to doing triathlons by the time he joins. The SAS recruits from the regular services, and they have excellent training regimens once you join. Those are the Army, the RAF, and the Royal Navy. Now, to get into the Army, there is a standard fitness test. It's fairly basic; you need to be able to run 2.4 kilometers in nine and a half minutes. You need to be able to do fifty sit-ups and forty-four press-ups in two minutes each. Things of that nature. Unless he has any physical infirmity, or is particularly frail, he should have no trouble training well past those standards, especially if he starts now. Then, when the time comes, there will be a career advisor waiting to set him on the right path for him."

"Well the thing is," said Hermione, "he's living with some cousins now, but before he was living with an aunt and uncle, who mistreated him, I'm afraid to say. I believe the neglect may have stunted his growth."

The man nodded with a frown. "It's certainly possible."

"It isn't that he's frail," she said. "He's actually quite athletic. But we both feel that this is a critical age for him, and we'd like to maximize what potential he has."

The man put on a thoughtful look. "In that case, I'm not the only one you want to talk to," he said, as he opened a desk to shuffle through some papers. After a moment, he selected one. It was an old page torn from a spiral bound notebook. Taking a pen, he started writing something from the page onto a fresh notepad. Eventually, he tore the note off and handed it to her.

"Professor Hardwick there at the university is the head of the sports medicine department. He'll see anyone during his evening office hours, whatever those are this term. Doctor Eastman though, she does a lot of consultations for young athletes, and I've referred a few aspiring soldiers to her. She only does paid consultations, I'm afraid. I think you'll want to speak to both of them though."

"Do you know how much she charges?" asked Hermione.

The man gestured to the note in her hand."

"Oh," said Hermione. "I think I must have mistaken that for a suite number."

"She's reasonably priced," the man said, "but I wouldn't recommend spending the money if this is just a passing fancy."

"Oh no," said Hermione, "No, I believe he's set on this." As was she. But she'd be asking Harry for the funds none the less.

!

The cave was just as Padfoot remembered it. A little damp, but protected from the elements, and out of the way from the village.

He wished he had more information to go on. He didn't know where the Weasley's lived, if they were still on vacation, or if Harry was still with them. What he did know was that the Weasley boy would be returning to Hogwarts in less than a month's time, and Padfoot would need to get to him before the rat could get to Harry.

Killing the rat was the most important thing. Or was protecting Harry the important part? Thinking was hard.

Shaking his head, ears flapping about, Padfoot abruptly transformed into Sirius, who took a seat on a handy boulder. He had spent too much time as Padfoot; his thinking gone too simple. Killing Wormtail was important for many reasons, chief among them, that it would help protect Harry. He had two priorities, and they went hand-in-hand; he couldn't forget that. Yet neither could he spend too much time as himself. He knew his face was plastered across Britain, muggle and magical alike. Taking a calming breath, Sirius became Padfoot once more.

Tomorrow, he would check the school wards to see if they had been updated for Animagi. A part of him was certain that Remus would never tell the Headmaster their secret, but a small part of him understood the length of time, twelve years, since he had seen the man. Anything was possible; he had already learned that the hard way. Assuming he could get through the wards, he would just have to bide his time to catch the rat, but catch the rat he would. At any cost.

!

Professor Dumbledore arranged for Harry and Professor McGonagall to meet the Weasley's and Hermione in Hogsmeade to shop for school supplies. The all-wizard village didn't have quite the selection as Diagon Alley, but it was judged to be safer for it's proximity to Hogwarts. Harry and his head of house rode a horseless carriage down the winding path towards the village.

"Professor," Harry addressed his chaperone, "will you be signing my permission slip?" He wasn't hopeful, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

"No Harry," said Professor McGonagall resignedly. "Scheduled Hogsmeade visits would be too tempting a target to Black."

Harry sighed and looked forlornly out the carriage window.

"However," said Professor McGonagall after a moment, "it may be that I could take you into town with me when I make the odd errand."

"Really?" asked Harry with a glimmer of hope.

"We shall see," said Professor McGonagall. "It will depend on whether or not you can keep yourself out of trouble this quarter."

"The other students don't have to stay out of trouble to go to Hogsmeade," Harry said, a touch mulishly.

"Is that so?" asked Professor McGonagall, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Perhaps you should ask the Weasley twins about the detention they served during a Hogsmeade visit last year."

"Hm," said Harry. "At least they know when they have to behave."

"I certainly hope that you weren't planning to only behave prior to visits, Mr. Potter."

"I don't _plan_ to misbehave," Harry said.

"I should hope not," said Professor McGonagall.

"Can we go to Honeydukes?" asked Harry to change the subject.

"We can," said Professor McGonagall, with a touch of asperity. "Though you receive enough sweets from the elves."

"Only after dinner," said Harry. "The rest of the time, we just have what we have stored in our trunks."

"You poor dears," said Professor McGonagall.

"You know, I bet you could fund some new school brooms if you started selling sweets at school, you know, like out of a student store, or something. Slytherin wouldn't have such a lead with their 2001s then."

"We wouldn't be able to fund anything other than a steady supply of cavity vanishing potions that would be needed in such a situation. That's to say nothing of the havoc caused by a constant sugar rush."

"Humph," Harry replied. "I hope they capture Black soon," he said.

"I as well, Mr. Potter, though I suspect for different reasons." She glanced out the window. "And here we are," she announced. "Gather up your things."

Harry picked up his bag and stood, though the carriage had yet to come to a complete stop.

"You have your wand holstered?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"Yes professor," Harry replied. A week prior, Harry had been presented with a holster that strapped to his forearm for easy access. Harry had been admonished to never leave the castle without his wand holstered, with the recommendation that he always have it on his person regardless. The leather holster was comfortable enough, so Harry had had no trouble with keeping it on. The bracelet that Ron had given him for his birthday now rested on his opposite arm, purely decorative.

"And what are you to do should you come across Black today?"

"Run and get help," Harry muttered.

"Quite right," said Professor McGonagall. The carriage jerked to a halt, and only Harry's hand pressing against the roof of the carriage kept him from flying into his head of house. Professor McGonagall shook her head at him and stood to exit.

When Harry stepped out into the light, he saw that they were outside of what looked like a pub. A wooden sign with three animated broomsticks, riderless, and seeming to be jockeying for position, proclaimed it to be the Three Broomsticks.

"We'll be eating lunch here," said Professor McGonagall.

The only other wizarding pub Harry had ever been to before had been the Leakey Cauldron, which had a dark and mysterious air. By comparison, the Three Broomsticks was bright and inviting. A merry fire dancing in the fireplace across the room, which somehow managed not to flood the room in oppressive heat during the summer month.

He was quickly beset by Weasley's, before his vision was engulfed by Hermione's bushy hair as she swept him up in a big hug.

"Oh Harry, it's good to see you again," she told him.

Harry hugged her back. "It's good to see you too," he told her. "You too, mate," he said to Ron.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione soon had a table to themselves, after Ron chased Ginny away. They had important matters do discuss, he told her, and she wasn't involved. Ginny went over to share a table with the twins, and judging by the looks that they were shooting over at Ron, Harry thought that his friend would regret it, no matter that they did have important matters to discuss.

"So," he asked Hermione, after a woman named Madam Rosmerta had taken their orders, "what have you figured out for me?"

"Quite a lot," she said, "though I'm still looking into things. But first, you owe me a solo."

"What, you can't take my word for it?" he asked.

She just continued to look at him expectantly.

"Fine," said Harry, before digging his fiddle out of his pocket and triggering the expansion charm on the case with his wand.

Harry pondered his choices for a moment before running through a verse of the Tennesee Waltz. He felt his face warm up when the pub erupted into scattered applause as he finished. Harry quickly put the fiddle away.

"Anyway," he said. "You were saying you still had stuff to look into?"

"The more I research this, Harry, the more I've come to realize that what you're looking for involves a complete lifestyle change. This is going to be a big commitment for us."

"What do you mean, for us?" asked Harry.

"Oh, come off it Harry," said Ron. "You didn't think you'd be doing this on your own, did you?"

"Well…" said Harry.

"You usually finish on your own, Harry," said Hermione, "but getting there's always been a team effort. And we're your team."

"Oh," said Harry, a touch awkward. "So, a lifestyle change, you said."

"That's right," said Hermione. "The mind, body, and magic are all one, in the end. You need to take care of yourself if you want to be ready to defeat Voldemort."

Ron twitched in his seat, but didn't correct Hermione's use of the dark wizard's name.

"So, what are you talking about here?" asked Harry. "Not just studying magic, but eating my vegetables, and not eating junk food as well?"

"That's part of it," said Hermione, "but you're thinking too small. Suppose you're on your school's rugby team. Your coach wouldn't just tell you to eat right, he'd tell you to get nine quality hours of sleep every single night. He'd tell you that it's not just about running into people and throwing a ball, it's also about having the stamina to keep going through a whole game."

"Nine hours?" asked Ron. "I thought you need eight?"

"That's for adults," said Hermione. "Teenagers need more sleep. And it's more than that. We'll go to bed at the same time every night, even on the weekends, and no sleeping in, either."

"I think I can live with that," said Harry grudgingly. Ron, though he had a put-upon look on his face, nodded as well.

"What about spells, and stuff?" he asked.

"We'll get to that," said Hermione. "Let's get through the stuff you won't like first."

"Alright," said Harry. "Um, what about homework?" He asked. "If we're supposed to finish our homework, and go to bed at the same time, every night…"

"Then finish your homework in a timely manner," said Hermione. "We'll be scheduling our time pretty carefully, so that shouldn't be a problem." She pulled out some papers, and Harry saw that they were week long individualized schedules. Ron voiced his first complaint.

"This says we're going to bed at nine, and waking up at six," he exclaimed.

"Well," said Hermione, "we need time to exercise in the morning. We'll go running for stamina building, as well as strength training. I'm still working on the workout routine, but I think I should have something drawn up by the time school starts.

"As for nutrition, Ron, you mostly just need to swap in some more fruits and vegetables. Harry, you need to start putting more food away, and not just carbs, like you usually do. You need more proteins, fruits and vegetables. We'll work on that more when we get to school, but I have some notes for you to go over before then," she said, handing Harry and Ron even more papers.

"Wait," said Ron, who was still looking at the schedules, "why does Harry's say Arithmancy? He's down for Divination with me."

"We can still wiggle some things around," said Hermione, "but I want us learning all of the electives offered, and none of us have time for all of them. I'm taking Ancient Runes, because, well, I'm the one most likely to be referencing ancient texts. Harry's taking Arithmancy because he's most likely to need the background in numerancy and spell creation that it will give him, since he's going to need to take charge of how he fights Voldemort. At the end of the day, we'll be able to teach each other what we've learned. This should have the added benefit of cementing the knowledge in our own brains."

"So what? I'm taking Divination because it's the easiest?" asked Ron with a touch of heat in his voice.

Hermione had a look upon her face that clearly pointed out that Ron had chosen Divination himself for just that reason, but instead she said, "You're taking it because your great-great-grandfather was a moderately talented seer, and there's a chance some of that talent has been passed on to you."

"Really?" asked Ron who sounded very surprised.

"Yes, really," said Hermione. "After we found out that magical talents can be inherited, I researched both your family lines. I didn't find much, since there's a lot that just doesn't get recorded, but I did find that Harry's family may have some sort of Talent for Flight, though no one's sure if that's actually a thing or not."

"You saw him the first time he got on a broom," said Ron, seemingly mollified.

"Hey, what about quidditch?" Harry asked as he quickly checked his schedule, relieved to see that it was still there.

"Don't worry, Harry," said Hermione. "We're not going to be working every second of every day. That would just drive us mad."

"And you've still got me down for my fiddle, meditation, and my diary."

"Yes," said Hermione. "Other than the fiddle, how have those been going?" she asked.

"Good," said Harry.

"He was doing all three, every day of our trip," said Ron.

Hermione beamed at him.

"I think I'm just barely getting the hang of meditation," said Harry, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "It helps me fall asleep at night, at any rate."

"That's fine," said Hermione. "Anyway, I've compressed them down to an hour-fifteen all together. I couldn't make things work otherwise."

"That's fine," Harry replied in kind, not letting on how relieved he was to hear it. Not that he terribly minded any of the three activities, but they had taken up a lot of his time over the summer. "Can we talk about spells now?" he asked.

"Certainly," said Hermione. "Here's a list of spells we should work on first." More papers came out of her bag.

As Harry perused the list of spells that she had handed him, one thing quickly became evident.

"These are all defensive," he said.

"Well yes," said Hermione, "I thought we'd focus on those first for obvious reasons."

"Not so obvious, no," said Harry. "We're training to kill Voldemort, not run away from him."

"No," said Hermione, "we're training so you can survive to kill Voldemort. Or do you think you can fight off ten death eaters at once, using only offensive spells. Don't forget that you've been in at least seven life threatening incidents since you started at Hogwarts." Apparently, Harry wasn't the only one keeping count.

"Fine, but couldn't we get a mix of spells in?" asked Ron.

Hermione took the papers back without another word. She studied it for a moment before taking a pen out and crossing out 'Hastings Feint - Counter Curse to The Standard Slashing Curse', and writing 'Bombarda - Bludgeoning Curse'.

"Okay," said Harry.

"You can start doing the background reading on these, Harry," she said. "You too, Ron. I'm sure your brothers still have the defense texts that they're in. I think we'll need to go over studying methods when school starts though."

Madam Rosmerta brought them the steak sandwiches they had ordered with fresh crisps on the side. Hermione saw this as an opportunity to go into further detail for their dietary plans.

"So today, Harry, you should probably have some fruit for a snack later, since you probably haven't had any all day. And then for dinner-"

"Mr. Potter! How wonderful to see you again." Harry recognized the voice, but he had never heard it in such a jovial manner. He turned his head to see Fudge walking up to their table.

Fudge was apparently happy to see everyone. When Fudge had arrested Hagrid, he had completely ignored Ron as though he hadn't existed, and paid Madam Pomfrey little mind. Today was a different story.

"And you must be Arthur Weasley's youngest boy. I've heard you're good friends of Harry's. And this must be your little muggleborn friend."

Mrs. Weasley got some attention too. "And Molly, we missed you at the Ministry's Yule Party last year. Oh, and I hear young Percy has made Head Boy this year, quite the achievement. Right in his oldest brother's footsteps. You must be so proud."

Fudge fondly ruffled a very confused Harry's hair at one point, and a flash went off somewhere.

"Well, I must be off," the man said. "Black will hardly turn _himself_ in," he said with a laugh. "But don't you worry, we'll have him out of your hair in no time. Ta ta, now."

He managed to shake hands with half the establishment before he made it to the floo and disappeared in green flames. All before Harry could become indignant over the man's familiarity; and after Fudge had practically threatened to arrest him last year.

"What just happened?" asked Harry.

"Fudge wants to drum up some positive publicity," said Professor McGonagall with a resigned air. "I'm sorry to say, Mr. Potter, it's something you will have to learn to put up with."

Harry nodded with a frown, remembering his talk with Bill when they had been in Egypt. Bill had said much the same thing.

The rest of the shopping trip passed uneventfully. Hermione wanted to hear all about their vacations, particularly about Egypt and the Amazon, neither of which she had been to before. Harry and Ron regaled her with stories of their travels, and Ron told them about his progress in the chess by owl league he had joined.

"I've gone up seven divisions already," he told them excitedly.

"But how can you have had time for so many games?" asked Hermione.

"Nah," said Ron, "I've only played six so far, well, I'm in the middle of my fifth and sixth. See, they do them in rounds of three at a time. After the first round, they moved me into the division I'm in now, after they'd gone over my strategies. They'll probably move me up more once I finish these last ones."

"I told you it was a good idea," said Harry with a grin. Hermione expressed how proud she was of Ron, before telling them both about her trip to France.

"The Louvre was fantastic, but we didn't spend near enough time there. Did you know they had works by magical artists? Only we can see them properly, of course."

"Were there any magical artists I'd recognize?" asked Harry.

"Oh, I'm not sure," said Hermione. "There was Prieur, he was a sculptor. I was able to see his statue of Henry IV as Jupiter interacting with the eagle it was paired with. Of course, there's speculation that Da Vinci was a wizard, but I'm pretty sure that that's just from prejudiced wizards who can't accept that a muggle could be so brilliant, since no one's recovered any magic artifacts created by him."

The shop owners they saw seemed happy to see them, as Diagon Alley was still the more popular location for school shopping. Hermione loaded both Harry and Ron up with books at Scrivners, giving them reading assignments. By this point, the three of them were getting odd looks from the rest of their group, who could all tell that something was afoot. On their way back to the castle, Professor McGonagall asked him what he was up to with his friends.

"We're just taking our studies more seriously this year," said Harry.

"Then I'll expect nothing but O's in my class from now on," said Professor McGonagall.

"Oh," said Harry. "I hope it's not too late, but I want to switch from Divination to Arithmancy."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "First Ms. Granger drops Divination and Arithmancy just as I was making arrangements for her class load, and now you wish to take Arithmancy instead of Divination."

"We thought it would be a better use of our time to teach our electives to each other. Plus, I'm sure Hermione will be doing a lot of independent study. She said something about still taking the NEWTS."

"Is this all to do with what we discussed last term?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"Maybe," said Harry.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall. "Do come to me if you require assistance."

"Thanks," said Harry.

"I feel as though I should be the one thanking you, Harry," said Professor McGonagall after a moment. "I know that you are giving up much of your childhood in order to give our society it's best chance. I only hope that you remember that you are not alone in this. Nor even that it is just you and your friends. You have myself and the Headmaster."

"I know Professor," said Harry, blushing and turning his face to peer out the window.

!

Newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Remus Lupin peered at his former head of house Minerva McGonagall across her desk as they sat down for tea in her office.

"Three sugars, please," he told her.

"You still have a sweet tooth, I see," she replied as she put three cubes of sugar into his tea. "But what was it that you so urgently needed to see me about?"

"I wouldn't say that the need was urgent," said Remus.

"Phaw," said Professor McGonagall, "it's always urgent with the young."

"I think perhaps you've confused me with my younger self. I hope I'm not still the teen you once knew in your eyes."

"Well he is hard to forget," said Professor McGonagall. "He may have been the sensible one in your little group, but that was hardly saying anything."

"Yes well, perhaps I was the angel on their shoulder, and they the demons on mine."

"Don't think that I don't know who was the brains of the operation," Professor McGonagall chided. "Now, before we go too far down memory lane, I do believe that you wanted to speak about something else."

"I wanted to speak about Harry, actually."

"Was there anything you feel we neglected at the security meeting this morning?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I mean, I do still object to the use of dementors, but I know that that is at the ministry's discretion. No, it's something that Professor Dumbledore mentioned in private, that he wanted me to be available to Harry to teach him any advanced defensive spells should he ask. I have no objections, but he was very vague as to why."

Professor McGonagall sighed. "There is a private matter at hand," she said. "Should he choose to confide in you, that is fine, but it is not for me to say."

"Minerva," Remus started with a touch of impatience.

"No, Remus," she interrupted him. "I know, had things been different, you would doubtless have been one of Harry's unofficial uncles, and you would have been kept privy to the happenings in his life, but that was not how your lives played out. Now I am sympathetic, but-"

"No," said Remus, "I understand."

"Good," said Professor McGonagall succinctly.

"I heard him playing the violin earlier, he sounds like he's getting pretty good."

"Fortunately, he is beyond the noise stage," said Professor McGonagall. "But if you ever speak of it to him, be certain to call it a fiddle. He says that violin music is much too gloomy."

"I will consider myself forewarned," said Remus, "though I hope someone will introduce him to the other side of the violin."

"I blame the clerk at the music shop," said Professor McGonagall. "She did play the most melancholy of pieces when she demonstrated violin music."

"He began playing recently then?" asked Remus, who was mildly surprised. If Minerva had taken Harry, then it would have been within this last year.

"Just this Summer, actually. He has progressed much faster than I would have thought."

"That's quite an achievement."

"It's a pity, because I suspect he only took up the hobby under duress. I would hate to see the talent go to waste should he no longer feel that he has to do it."

"Who's making him take a hobby?" asked Remus in bewilderment.

"One of his friends," said Professor McGonagall, "Hermione Granger, you'll enjoy having her in class. Of course, none of us are certain what leverage she used, but I have my theories."

Remus pointed an accusatory finger at her. "I knew it," he said. "You Professors just get together in your lounge and gossip about us."

"'You professors'?" said Professor McGonagall. "Why Professor, perhaps you should check your new title. I do not seem to be the only one forgetting the years that have passed since you were a student."

!

Dear Journal,

I met our new Defense professor today. His

name is Professor Lupin. There doesn't

seem to be anything wrong with him, but

I think I'll keep my eyes open. You can't

be too sure, what with the last three.

The professors all seem to like him though,

so I guess he can't be too bad. Actually,

Snape seems to hate him already, but that's

not saying much. On the one hand, he hates

me, but on the other, he hated Quirrel and

Lockhart.

I think I actually managed to meditate last

night, but I'm not sure. Maybe I just fell

asleep for a second. Not sure if I'll ever kick

butt at meditation, but we'll see.

I went flying today, but was sure not to do

anything crazy. I'll keep the crazy for quidditch.

Still had fun though. I just wish someone else

were here to play with. Madam Hooch flew with

me the one time, but she's been gone since.

I'm excited for the start of term so I can start training

properly. I've already started adjusting my sleeping

habbits, but I'm taking it slow like Hermione said in

her notes. I also ran a little around the pitch today,

and did not get very winded. I guess I can thank

Harry Hunting for that.

When Professor Babbage had come back from her vacation to muggle New York, she had come back with sheet music for the Fiddler on the Roof as a small gift for Harry, telling him that it was a belated birthday present. She had apparently seen the musical on Broadway. Harry had been unable to think of any more fitting a place to practice than atop the astronomy tower. That wasn't quite true, actually; Harry's first thought had been the actual roof. However, he had promised too many people that he was done with death-defying stunts to try it.

Dementors were sweeping the school and its grounds that day, only one day prior to the arrival of the other students, and Harry had been instructed to stay inside after noon, and in the Great Hall before six o'clock. With not much better to do, Harry was determined to learn the opening piece to the musical before dinner. He thought that he was starting to get the hang of it when the air suddenly chilled.

Harry had seen the dementors down on the grounds below as little specs gliding over the grounds; no one had told him that they could fly. The creature that appeared suddenly atop the tower exuded darkness and fear. What had been a black spec from above was now a terrifying abomination. Harry fell backwards towards the staircase, scrambling back even as his vision began to darken. Reaching the stairs, Harry felt his left wrist crack as he came upon the sudden decline. Lashing out with his foot, Harry slammed the door shut on the Dementor before passing out.

Someone was screaming; a woman was screaming. There was a flash of green light.

*Thump*

A shout. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off —"

They died, over and over, they died. No one could save them. No one could be saved.

*Thump* The sound of his blood pumping through his head echoed and the world changed.

"Naïve boy…"

"You are helping to keep Voldemort alive."

*Thump*

Hands grabbed him by the arm and leg, and he swung through the air. There was a sickening crunch.

*Thump*

There was a green flash of light, and he was alone. His mother was lying there on the floor in front of him, but he was alone. He would always be alone.

*Thump*

The world would be better off without him. A single step was all that it would take to end it all.

*Thump*

Ginny's body lay on the ground, lifeless. All because the heir wanted to frame Harry. She died, and it was all his fault.

Venom coursed through his veins, but Harry knew now that he had to stay alive. He would die, and no one would stop Voldemort. It was all his fault.

*Thump*

He was naked and alone, left to die by his own blood.

*Thump*

"Not Harry!"

"Stand aside, foolish woman." There was a green flash of light. He was alone; forever alone.

*Thump*

Enormous spiders surrounded them. He had led Ron to his death.

*Thump*

Everyone died. He was always alone.

*Thump*

"Freak!"

*Thump*

Just one step.

*Thump*

Always alone.

*Thump*

*Thump*

*Thump*

Slowly, Harry became aware of his surroundings. He started to feel the sharp edged stairs pressing into his back, the cold stone leaching what little warmth remained in him. Light began penetrating the darkness. Slowly, Harry oriented himself to where he was, and repositioned himself so that his head was no longer beneath the rest of his body. Grabbing the hand rail, he stood up on shaky legs.

Clutching the hand rail, he made his way down the stairs.

Something was broken in him, he knew. Never again would he smile, or be happy. Never again would he feel joy when he saw his friends' faces. Was he doomed to live a half-life, as Quirrel had been for drinking unicorn blood? Still shivering, Harry made his way to the door at the bottom of the stairway.

Harry didn't know how long he had been insensate on the astronomy tower stairs, but he had a deadline to be back in the Great Hall, before they let the Dementors into the castle. Using the wall as a support, Harry made his way through the castle, certain the whole way through that his next step would send him crashing to the ground. He was still so cold, his teeth chattering together, his hands too numb to hold his wand. Would they ever thaw? The only thing that kept him moving was the fear that if he did not make it there in time, the Dementors would be allowed into the castle regardless, and once again feast on Harry's despair.

Of a sudden, a warm flash of fire burst into existence next to Harry, and Fawkes swooped forth. His beak opened, and out poured phoenix song. Glorious golden melody washed over him. It was as though a dam broke within him. Harry sank to his knees as he let out a great shuddering sob.

It was different than when Fawkes had sung in the Chamber. Then, it had stirred feelings of bravery and nobility; now, it kindled just a spark of hope within him. He cried as Fawkes landed on his shoulder, talons sinking into his his robe, and then Harry was surrounded by flames.

It did not occur to him to be alarmed. He couldn't have said whether it was faith in Fawkes, or a complete inability to be alarmed, but the warm flames did not burn. The flames disappeared as quickly as they had arrived, and Harry found himself in the Great Hall. He let himself slump to the floor. Fawkes took off, continuing his song. The warmth that Harry had felt on his skin began to combat the cold inside.

"Harry!" someone cried. Or perhaps it was multiple someones. He wasn't sure, and didn't care; he was safe. He let out another sob.

"Mr. Potter," said someone standing over him. It was Professor McGonagall. "Where have you been? What happened?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. A part of him still felt as though he were somehow removed from the world of human interaction; wasn't sure if he ever would rejoin it again.

Suddenly, there was chocolate in his mouth, and when the first crumb of it melted on his tongue, Harry felt as though doors that had shut in his soul had been thrown open. He started chewing in earnest, making short work of the awfully large piece of chocolate that had been shoved into his mouth. Another piece was put in front of him, by Professor Lupin, he noticed. He set into it as though he were starved.

"What happened, Mr. Potter?" asked Professor McGonnagal.

"A dementor," said Harry shakily after a large swallow, "on the Astronomy Tower."

He noticed magnificent silver creatures patrolled around the hall. There was another phoenix, Fawkes' double, a tabby cat, a wolf, a badger, and-

Harry was pulled from his observations by an acerbic voice. "You were told to stay inside," said Snape. "You were told to be here by six o'clock. What were you doing on the astronomy tower past six-ten?"

"It wasn't even five-thirty," said Harry. "And I thought I was just supposed to stay off the grounds."

"It is not your place to interpret the rules set in place for your safety, merely to-"

"Severus," Professor Dumbledore cut in. There was no hint of reproach in his quiet voice, but Snape fell silent with obedience that he likely found lacking in Harry.

"Harry, for how long were you under the Dementor's powers?" The headmaster asked.

Harry looked at his watch, for a moment incapable of performing the simple subtraction.

"Half an hour," he finally said with a shiver. There were a number of gasps and exclamations from the staff.

"Why did you not run away?" asked Professor Sprout.

"The Dementor could not have followed you into the castle," said Professor McGonagall, as though she thought that Harry had withstood the Dementor in order to protect the school. Harry couldn't fathom being so brave.

"I did run away," said Harry. "I passed out just past the door."

Grim looks were exchanged by the staff.

"Child, I think it's best if you slept in the hospital wing tonight," said Madam Pomfrey, handing him a cup of hot chocolate. "We'll get some Dreamless Sleep into you."

Harry, usually loathe to step foot into the hospital wing, thought that a dreamless sleep sounded too good to pass up. He wished he could sleep for a year. He drank down the hot chocolate, though it was slightly too hot. Closing his eyes, he rested his head in his hands, only to become painfully aware of his broken wrist. A trip to the infirmary was definitely in order.

!

Half an hour after the Dementors of Azkaban had left the grounds of Hogwarts, the portkey affixed around Petunia Dursley's neck activated and dragged her away from her simple abode. It was now her third time traveling by portkey, but she certainly had not gotten used to the form of travel. After far too many dizzying seconds had passed, Petunia stood in her chambers in the bowels of the school.

The old bastard was there to meet her.

"Petunia," he greeted her from a chair by the fireplace. "I do apologize for not warning you before hand, but I suddenly found myself needing you here sooner rather than later."

"I believe that we've established that you do not care about offending me," said Petunia icily. "Please do not pretend otherwise. Now where is my son?"

"I will arrange to bring Dudley here tomorrow," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "Unless you have any pressing needs following your journey, I will bid you good night and allow you to settle yourself."

"I require nothing but a meal. I assume you've seen to it that my pantry is stocked."

"Alas, I had only a little more warning of your arrival than you. But if you like, I will see to it that the elves stock it presently rather than prepare you a meal." He turned to leave through the floo.

"The next time," said Petunia suddenly, "send me to the same isle."

He turned to her again, his eyes studying her. "As you wish," he said, before leaving the room.

She stood, rooted to the spot she had landed on, for a long minute. Now alone once more, she wept.

A/N: Super sorry that I didn't finish this a lot sooner, like in December. I was pretty busy these winter hold, so when I didn't finish before school started, I had even more on my plate.

Just an extra note. One reviewer pointed out that there is no physical difference between a fiddle and violin, it's all about what you play on the instrument. I've made the appropriate changes to the chapter.


	16. 15 Training

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. This is a work of fan fiction.

Training

Last night was awful. Whoever

thought that Dementors were a

good idea is a bleeding idiot. I

think I almost went mad from

being next to that one on the

Astronomy tower. Madam

Pomfrey says that I had an

extra bad reaction to them, but

they still don't seem like the

sort of thing you should use as

prison guards, let alone school

guards. No wonder Hagrid was

so scared to go to Azkaban.

Madam Pomfrey was really

ranting about having the

Dementors here. I wish I could

sic her on the minister.

I guess I must have had a real

awful life already. That's why the

Dementors were so bad, since I

have so many terrible memories.

When the Dementor has so

much power over you already,

some people (lucky me) start

making up bad things in their

minds to make it worse. What

a wonderful imagination I have.

It was good that I didn't have to

dream last night, but it felt weird.

It doesn't feel like when I just

can't remember my dreams. I felt

kind of empty instead.

I still don't feel like normal. I wish

Ron and Hermione were here,

but I don't want them to have to

go past the Dementors today.

What if they come back different

too? They better catch Black

soon, because I don't want to

ever see a Dementor again.

I'm starting to get the hang of

the spells that Hermione set us.

And except for this morning, I've

been following her sleep schedule.

We'll see how things go, I guess.

I've maybe been sleeping better

now. Before the Dementor, I was

really feeling pretty good, though

some of that's probably the

vacations.

If I was going to miss any of the

vacations, I would have thought it

would be the beach. It was really

nice and simple at the beach. But

I miss the Amazon. Most of the

time, not all of the time, but most

of it, I could forget things there.

Maybe because it was so different

from anything like home.

Harry sat with his head in his arms at Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. The professors were up at their own table talking amongst themselves, all full of an energy that Harry envied for the new school year. Harry was still the only youth in the castle, and though he no longer felt as though he were a hollow husk of a person, he didn't much feel normal either. He wasn't in as dark a place as he had been following his conversation with Dumbledore at the end of first year, but he still felt as though he had been sapped of a fair amount of energy and happy thoughts. Madam Pomfrey had told him that he would feel better soon.

Eventually though, a low rumble started to come from the doors to the great hall. Harry could make out the jumble of voices, and the heavy footfalls of a large group of approaching students, and soon enough they began pouring in. They were an unusually somber bunch.

Harry frowned deeply. They must have all gone by the dementors. None of them looked near as bad as he had the night before, but he could see Colin Creevey shivering a little.

"Harry!"

That was Hermione. She and Ron were rushing over to him.

"Are you guys okay?" asked Harry once they reached him. "You guys look pale. Have you had any chocolate?"

The tables were all supplied with carafes of hot chocolate, and Harry started pouring some for his friends.

"Here, you guys should drink this. Were the dementors really bad?"

"It was bloody awful, Harry, but I'm okay now," said Ron.

"Language, Ron!" said Hermione. "We already had some chocolate, Harry. And if you hand Ron that cup, I'm sure he can drink it on his own."

"Er, right," said Harry, handing a wide-eyed Ron the cup of hot chocolate that he had been pushing towards his face. "Those dementors are just bloody awful is all." He handed Hermione a cup as well as they all sat down. "Do the other's all know to have chocolate? Especially the first years."

"The new professor had the prefects make sure everyone had some," said Ron.

"Oh good," said Harry, "He seems okay, but we'll see."

"Not all of them can be gits, right?" asked Ron.

"Well, it's hard for Professor Dumbledore to find a replacement every year, since everyone thinks the position is cursed."

"Yeah," said Ron. "I asked Bill, and he said he never had a single Defense professor two years in a row."

"Hey, maybe Bill could remove the curse," said Harry.

"Yeah, that would be cool," said Ron.

"So Harry, did you have a run in with the dementors too?" asked Hermione, sounding very concerned.

"Er, yeah," said Harry. "It turns out they can, um, fly. So one got me up on the Astronomy tower when they were sweeping the grounds yesterday."

"Oh, they're just awful things," Hermione said. "For a moment there, I felt as though I would never be happy again!"

Harry had to stamp down an irrational surge of resentment at Hermione, who seemed to have had only a mild reaction to the dementors, and who did not know that he had had a very bad experience with them indeed.

"I'll be happy to see them go," was all he said.

"Are you okay though?" asked Hermione.

"Why wouldn't I be?" asked Harry, feigning ignorance.

"So you're still going up to the Astronomy Tower, are you?" asked Ron.

"Er, yeah," said Harry. "I like it up there. Plus, Professor Babbage gave me sheet music for Fiddler on the Roof. So like…get it? Fiddler on the Roof?"

"We get it, Harry," said Ron with a roll of his eyes.

"I always liked that movie," said Hermione.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Well, you can listen to me practice it tomorrow."

Very soon, the first years were sorted, Dumbledore ushered in dinner, and everyone went back to catching up with their friends. It was a little strange, having the new term start when he'd already seen all of his dorm mates over the Summer. The'd all sat nearby, and talk soon turned to their collective vacations. Harry, by virtue of having been on all of them, was the center of attention. He found that he didn't mind. With his friends by his side, a new term beginning, and good food to share, his spirits were much lifted.

Everyone wanted to know about the cruise up the Amazon, as it was far more exotic than anywhere the others had traveled. This was saying something, as Wizards seemed to take advantage of magic to travel to more exotic locales. Harry wound up talking the most about it, though he did prompt Neville to join in now and then. The other boy was shy about speaking up, but he had also taken interest in different things than Harry had during the trip, so Harry made sure to point the other boy out when the conversation turned to something Neville was more knowledgeable about.

"The thing is," said Harry, "I went to the Amazon expecting everything to be very exotic, and it was. But I was still surprised by how similar things can be too. I guess, you know, people are people wherever they are. Then I go to Germany, and I'm thinking, oh it's going to be like England, but they speak German, and it is. Only I'm constantly taken aback by how different they can be in all these little ways."

Hermione was very interested in his travels, and was able to relate to a lot of it because of her own travels.

Eventually, conversation wound down, as they became lethargic from bellies overfull from desert. Professor Dumbledore stood to give beginning of term announcements. Professor Lupin was introduced, students were cautioned against the Dementors, and the Forbidden Forest remained forbidden. Lastly, the school song was sung with a cacophony of noise. Soon, they were all making their ways up to their dormitories, and getting ready for bed.

"So Harry," said Seamus mischievously, "is it true about you and Neville going nude in the Amazon?"

Harry, remembering his conversation with Bill, affected a confident smirk and replied. "Well heck, Seamus, I get naked practically every day. Why, are you asking about anything in particular?"

"I'm talking about skinny dipping!" Seamus exclaimed. "Public nudity. My cousin showed me that Witch Weekly article."

"Well yeah," said Harry. "You know, when in Rome, and all that. Not much of a dress code over there."

"You didn't really," said Ron dubiously.

"Sure I did," said Harry, "loads of times. I never mentioned it in Egypt?"

"You too, Neville?" asked Dean.

Seeming to absorb some of Harry's confidence about the situation, Neville nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Not as much as Harry did though, since I was with my Uncle a lot, looking at magical plants. Which, was the whole point, by the way. Harry keeps calling us tourists, but everyone on the ship was either an herbology or potions enthusiast, or with an herbology or potions enthusiast. Half of them only left the ship long enough to make a trade for a local plant."

"Hey, there were some adventurous ones among them," said Harry. "We went on an expedition into the jungle looking for that starlight orchid."

"So, but, wasn't it, you know, weird?" asked Ron.

"Well it was a magical flower, but it didn't seem too strange," said Harry. "The trek through the jungle was just as interesting, and there wasn't even any magic involved there."

"No," said Ron, "the skinny dipping.

"Oh, well," said Harry, "like the first couple of villages we visited were pretty close to civilization, so the people there mostly wore normal clothes a lot. But most of the kids, not all of them mind, but most still skinny dipped anyway. But when we joined them, Neville and I kept at least our underwear on." Harry had had a swimsuit, but it had seemed silly to go all the way back to the ship for it when the youth who weren't naked were in their pants too.

"Aw, chickens," said Seamus.

"Like you've ever been skinny dipping," said Dean with a laugh.

"Have so," said Seamus.

"It doesn't count if you were five," said Ron.

Seamus didn't have a counter-argument, so Harry continued the tale. "Anyhow, after those first villages, I mean, we didn't actually stay on the Amazon, it was more that we kept coming back to it. We sort of, magically jumped from river to river, so we could go to much more secluded areas, which were magically protected from, you know, loggers and missionaries and hunters, by the local witchdoctors. It was weird, because most of them were muggles, but they all still knew about magic. Anyway, the more secluded it got, well you know, like, everyone was half-naked, all the time."

Harry had spent some time laying awake at night wishing that those witchdoctors spoke english, or that he spoke even one of the local languages, just so that they could have had a conversation. He doubted that any of them had ever encountered a horcrux before, but still, their exotic magic teased the imagination. Sometimes, when you're lying awake at night, Harry had found, you couldn't help but to imagine a happily ever after; no matter how sure you were that it wasn't going to happen.

"Even the girls?" asked Dean wide-eyed, who had no idea that Harry had something so much less trivial than skin on his mind.

"Everyone," Harry said again. "As we went further along, well they're basically naked except for some decorations."

"Yeah, and I just want to remind you that everything that follows is Harry's fault," Neville piped in.

"You say that like you regret it," said Harry. "Anyway, so Neville and I were off with the local kids. Almost no one speaks any English. It's the first village we get to where they dress really traditionally. Loincloths, for the most part. Kids not too much younger than us were just starkers. Anyway, they were showing us around. Everything's explained in hand-gestures. I'm picking up on maybe half of what they're showing us, so I'm still not sure whether I won or lost this one game they showed us."

"I'm still not sure if there _were_ winners or losers," said Neville.

"But at one point," Harry continued, "we were all on our own with a bunch of boys; the girls were all helping with farming. So these kids take an interest in our clothes. They'd seen other magical tourists with normal clothes, but they'd never worn them before." They had had no concept of personal space either. The other boys had been very interested in physically examining Harry's and Neville's clothes while they were still being worn.

"I was all set to go get some outfits for them to try on," Neville pointed out.

"But their hand gestures were pretty clear," said Harry. "I figured out that they wanted to do a swap. They'd try on our clothes, we'd try on theirs. It's not like I'd never changed clothes in a group before, and they were all half-naked anyway, so I say yes. Neville clearly hates the idea, but he says yes too, Gryffindor that he is." Neville blushed. "So we switch. The loincloth was…different. I was getting a lot more sun than I was used to, to say the least."

"And here's the part where we realized he'd messed up," said Neville.

"Yes, well, turns out the hand-gestures weren't _that _clear; they'd proposed a full trade, and not some temporary swap." Ron and Seamus are crying with laughter now. Dean has collapsed back onto his bed. Meanwhile, Neville was blushing furiously, though he was also smiling.

"So they all run off to show their new clothes to everyone," Harry continues, "and I mean, one kid's got my shirt, another has my pants, another's got my trousers. Meanwhile, Neville and I try to sneak back to our room on the ship. But, you know, it's not easy to really sneak around when you're practically naked. We both thought his gran, and all the other folks on the ship, would be cross with us. But, they thought it was hilarious. Then his gran actually commends us on embracing another culture." They had also thought that it was cute, but Harry wasn't going to mention that. "Then she said, and I'm blaming you for this Neville, that it would be the _height_ of rudeness to change into western clothes now. I think she said that it would be a slap in the face to their culture, like we were rejecting it. We would have to wait until the ship left port. And sure enough, those kids we traded clothes with kept wearing theirs, so a precedent had certainly been set."

"No!" said Ron, gasping for breath.

"Yes!" said Harry. "I couldn't believe it either. But she was very particular about us not offending the locals. Of course, we'd been given a long talk beforehand about basically not being prats while we were there."

"There's photographic proof, I think, somewhere out there," Neville mused.

"In my trunk, actually," said Harry. Neville had a coughing fit next to him. Harry _had_ wound up asking for copies after he had come home from Egypt. Everyone sat at attention as Harry dug through his trunk for the envelope the pictures were in. There were a few of them showing both Harry and Neville in loincloths, and Harry pulled out the most modest one, showing them facing the camera and posing with silly faces on one of the ships decks."

"I was beginning to think you were making this all up," said Seamus.

"100% true story," said Harry. "And you know, like, before the adults in the village mostly just ignored Neville and me, but after we went native, they really started to treat us like we were village kids."

"One woman tried to pick bugs out of my hair after dinner," said Neville.

"What?!" asked Seamus.

"Not that I had any, mind," said Neville, flustered, "but…"

"But it's something that they just do every night," said Harry, "because there was a bit of a lice problem, or something. Our guide on the ship said it was all a part of family bonding. The next day, a couple of the men took me and a couple other boys out hunting with a blow-gun."

"A blowgun? How are you going to take anything down with just a little dart?" asked Dean. "Were you hunting chipmunks?"

"Oh, it's covered in a poison," said Harry. "It's a paralytic. Though mind, I still had to climb a hundred feet up into the canopy to retrieve a monkey they'd gotten. Anyway, like, Neville almost got his face pierced, and we both got ourselves painted up." Harry found the relevant picture and showed it to the other boys; it was of him and Neville, their faces and shoulders painted red and black.

There were times while he was there, when Harry did not think he had ever felt so welcome and accepted before. For a while, it was like some of the burden of the horcrux had been lifted, like it had been left behind in England. Harry hadn't known that people who spoke an alien language could make you feel so like family.

"You almost got your face pierced?" asked Dean, wide eyed.

"Here," said Harry, pulling out a head-shot of a native boy, his face having several protruding needle like piercings.

"Wow," said Seamus. "Except for that one through his lip, they kind of look like whiskers."

"Yeah," said Harry, "but there was another tribe, the Zo'é, who used these." He pulled out another picture.

"Oh Merlin!" Ron exclaimed.

"Why would you do that?!" Seamus nearly shrieked. Dean said nothing, but looked vaguely ill.

"They call them Puturú," said Neville. "They're really important there. I guess they start piercing under the lip with small sticks after all of their baby teeth fall out, and then start using larger ones to stretch it out. Then they only take them out to wash them, or put a new one in."

"Okay," said Ron, "so as weird as that is, how'd any of this lead to you skinny dipping?" asked Ron.

"Well, I mean, first they're treating you like you're one of them, then for another thing, loincloths aren't exactly the most modest of things you can wear," said Harry.

"It's a little more than _half_-naked," Neville supplied.

"I mean," said Harry, "I've never been so tanned in my life. Of course, now there's just no tan lines." This earned a few guffaws. "Anyway, so our modesty is shot; you already feel exposed. Then all the kids want to go swimming. It's hot and so very humid, so Neville and I aren't going to miss out on that. But the loincloth just isn't meant to go swimming in. Besides, you know, peer pressure, and whatnot. So, with a little trepidation, we got down to our birthday suits." There had been a lot of laughing and cajoling from the other kids to get them out of the loincloths, but it had all seemed to be in good fun.

"In front of the girls?" asked Seamus, waggling his eyebrows.

"Well it wasn't like they cared, so why should we?" asked Harry nonchalantly, even as he blushed.

"So what was it like?" asked Ron.

"It was fun," said Harry with a shrug. "Plus it was nice not to have to worry about wet clothes after. I mean like, for five minutes I was all, Oh Merlin, Oh Merlin," he said, waving his hands about, "and Neville kept looking over his shoulder to make sure his Gran wasn't about. But it isn't long before you kind of got used to it. And when it was time to go back, I'd practically forgotten I was starkers." Harry would have to thank the twins again for teaching him to swim the summer before in one of the ponds that littered their cornfield. It had really come in handy throughout the summer.

"So Harry," said Seamus, "you still have that loincloth?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah," said Harry. He thought it was a good thing that he had overpacked, because he had actually traded in for a few local garments, which varied a lot. Harry hadn't had the heart to say no to any of the youths that had wanted to trade something. "Actually, I came back with a few things. I traded my watch for this hammock," he said gesturing to the item hanging from one of his bedposts. "Got a few bracelets and necklaces," he said, pulling a necklace out from under his shirt. "I almost came back with a blow-gun, but Mrs. Longbottom confiscated it." He gave Neville a mock dirty look.

"That's a hammock?" asked Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry, who got up and stretched one end over to the diagonal bedpost, where he'd already put a hook to secure it. "Hold up," he said, before awkwardly climbing into it. "It's pretty comfortable. I might just sleep in it on warm nights."

"That's cool," said Seamus, momentarily distracted. "But anyway, Harry, I _double-dare_ you to go put that loincloth on. You know, since you're so Zen about it."

"Yeah, I told you I'm never playing truth or dare with you again," said Harry, who had thrown up twice; once while trying to eat a stick of butter, and again when he had tried to eat a tablespoon of cinnamon. "Besides, knowing my luck, that's when a prefect would stick his head in to see why we're all still up."

"Oh, go on," Ron teased. Harry stuck his tongue out at him.

"Yeah, Neville too," said Dean. This was exactly when Percy opened the door.

"Are none of you getting ready for bed?" the Head Boy asked. "We have classes first thing tomorrow, and it's been a very long day."

"Sorry, Perce," said Ron, "Harry was just telling us about the Amazon."

"Yes, well, very educational, I'm sure," said Percy. Seamus and Dean sniggered. "But as Head Boy, I would be seriously remiss if I let you stay up all night talking. We all want to make a good impression on our first day of class tomorrow."

"No problem," said Harry. "I think we were about done anyway."

"Oh good," said Percy. Then he frowned down at Harry. "Did you really go skinny dipping while you were there."

They all started laughing again. "Yeah, Percy," said Harry.

"Yeah," said Seamus, "Harry here's thinking of starting a nudist swimming club. Everyone'll be starkers down by the Great Lake."

"Well, Harry," said Percy, pushing his glasses up on his nose, "just remember that all club proposals must be presented to Professor McGonagall in person."

Harry shuddered for show. "Oh, well, never mind then," he said, earning some more chortles.

"Yes, well, it is time to get ready for bed, so don't stay up. And do dress appropriately," he said very seriously, casting a glance at Harry, though Harry had known him long enough by now to know that this was Percy's version of teasing.

With that, he bade them all goodnight, and the five boys were on their own again.

"Yeah, keep your clothes on, Harry," teased Dean. "You too, Neville. I wouldn't have thought you had it in you."

Neville blushed, but he was also smiling proudly. Harry was glad that he'd included the other boy in the conversations so far. Neville usually just stayed in the background when anything exciting was going on.

"Now see," said Harry. "If we had actually gone and put on loincloths, Percy would have been delayed somehow, and he wouldn't have stuck his head in until I was half naked, and the next thing you know, I'd be sitting in front of McGonagall as she lectures me about proper wizarding behavior."

"Yeah, that does sound about right," said Ron.

Harry glanced at his watch. "Crud, it is late," he said.

"It's not even nine yet," said Seamus.

"Nah," said Ron, "we're doing this thing. Athletic conditioning, you know? In bed by nine, up by six."

"Well, screw that!" exclaimed Seamus boisterously.

"Really, I can't remember when I've had more energy," said Harry. "You should try it."

"Yeah right," said Dean.

"No skin off our backs," said Ron. "We learned silencing charms this summer, just for you guys. I practiced on the train, to make sure. So we don't need to worry about your noisy selves keeping us up."

"Yeah, that's lame," said Seamus.

"We'll see who's lame when we're running circles around you in a couple of months," said Harry.

"So Harry, I kind of feel silly now," said Dean, changing the subject, "taking you to the beach, when you went to all those fancy places."

"Are you kidding?" asked Harry. "I loved the beach. It's fun. Everyone spoke English. I didn't have to worry if bugs are a main ingredient of what I'm eating."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "plus it's easier to hit on girls when you're both speaking the same language."

"Who says you need to speak the same language?" asked Harry coyly.

"Hah!" exclaimed Seamus. "Like you hit on topless girls when you didn't hit on _anyone _on the beach."

"Like we were any better," said Dean. "Oh, let's go play volleyball with those girls," he mimicked. "I didn't see that go anywhere."

"At least we had a plan," said Seamus. "It's okay, Harry," he said very condescendingly, "your balls just haven't dropped yet."

Harry opened his mouth, speechless for a moment before the perfect rejoinder came to him. "No, there's plenty of people who can attest to the location of my balls," he said, blushing furiously to bely the bravado in his voice.

This led to a lot more laughing, leaving Harry feeling very clever and cool, even if he was still a little scared of the thought of hitting on girls.

As Harry climbed into bed, he pondered how much he missed the Amazon. It had been like being on another world, where he didn't have any real responsibilities. He had never had so much fun learning, and he had learned a lot. He didn't know if he would ever feel so at peace again. Even if Professor Dumbledore found a way to safely remove the horcrux, and Harry killed Voldemort, would he ever be able to feel that way again? Harry entertained the idea of running away to join the Yanomami or the Zo'é when everything was over. There would be no press, no enemies, nor any expectations. Harry could use what he had learned to defeat Voldemort to help protect the native peoples from the ever encroaching outside world.

Of course, that was all _if _they could find a way for him to survive. Professor Dumbledore was searching, Harry knew. Harry hoped that it was possible, but he had no faith in the idea. He just couldn't bear to be wrong about such a thing. He would rather be prepared to die, than to expect to live, and have that belief crushed.

Harry also worried that he was using the horcrux as an excuse not to do things. For a moment, he had considered how nice it would be, to be clever and cool not in front of his dorm mates, but in front of someone like Susan, or Angelina. But thought processes like that somehow always sped off to thoughts of dating, falling in love, and dying tragically, leaving behind a grieving girl friend. On the face of it, Harry knew that this was a little extreme, though he couldn't help but think it. But was this just cowardice? A way to evade the daunting task of girls?

Girls weren't so scary, Harry thought to himself. Not more scary than a basilisk. If he kept telling himself that, maybe he'd believe it.

!

Albus stepped out of the thestral drawn carriage in the hidden alley behind the Ministry of Magic into an early fall rain. An attendant rushed over to him with an umbrella, unnecessary because of Albus's umbrella charm, but Albus allowed him to hold it over him as they made their way to the Ministry's rear entrance anyway.

"Thank you, my boy," said Albus once they were inside. "Mr. Derwent, isn't it?"

"That's right, sir."

"Your older brother was a graduate of mine, wasn't he?"

"Yes, sir. Dillon was a prefect, sir."

"Yes, he was a credit to Ravenclaw. Now, do you know if Cornelius is still available for our meeting?"

"No one's reported anything to the contrary, sir. He should be in his office now."

"Splendid," said Albus. "Do please send word ahead of me that I have arrived."

"Right away, sir," said Mr. Derwent.

Albus strode down the hallway and into the hustle and bustle of the Ministry's main lobby. Some, particularly the young, thought that it was age that prompted Albus to fly to the Ministry, rather than apparate or floo from Hogsmeade. Those who had known him longer, from when he had been spry enough to think nothing of either form of transport, thought it a mere eccentricity that he had always preferred to travel between Hogwarts and the Ministry by carriage. In truth, Albus did still feel spry enough to floo and apparate, and did so frequently enough. And eccentric though he was, he had another reason for flying in on a carriage. It was a truly marvelous way of getting work done without any distractions. No interrupting portraits, professors, students, or owls. No desk full of other tasks to perform, only whatever single task he chose to bring with him. It was the closest he could get to a vacation these days.

After an elevator ride down to the minister's level and more hallways traversed, Albus came at last to Cornelius's office. The man's secretary greeted him with a smile.

"Punctual as always, Chief Warlock," Ms. Pennylane greeted him as she knocked on, and opened, the minister's door.

"Your selective memory is much too forgiving of me, my dear," said Albus with a smile as he swept into the large office.

"Albus, my good man," greeted Cornelius, "come in. Can I interest you in a smidgen of this 1874 bottle of Ogden's? A recent gift from the Zimbabwe ambassador."

"I would be delighted, Cornelius. I must admit, I haven't had any of that stock since I was a young man, back when it was cheap."

Cornelius laughed as he poured out a finger of whiskey. "Now Albus, I do hope that this visit isn't about the dementors again."

"You know my position on their use, Cornelius," said Albus, "but I know that your decision has been made. No, I've come about another matter. It's nothing to do with the current Black situation."

"Well, sit down, sit down, and tell me what brings you here at the beginning of another school year."

Albus sat and took a sip of Whiskey. It really had been a good year, though he hadn't appreciated it at the time.

"I have come to inform you, Cornelius, that I intend to step down as the Chief Mugwump of the International Confederation in two months time."

"Step down?" asked Cornelius, almost aghast. "But you can't step down, we've held that chair for over fifty years now because of you. Just imagine if Bandeau took the chair. We can't have French control of the ICW."

"I agree that it would be a poor turn of events for Bandeau to take the chair," said Albus, though in truth he held no reservations about the man or the country. "And because I don't believe I can get enough support for a British replacement, I am currently planning to put my support behind Cardot." Albus had been grooming the man for a few years now to be his replacement, though he had not planned to be vacating his seat so soon."

"Yes, well, Canada is certainly better than a French Chief Mugwump, but really Albus, what's brought this on so suddenly? Couldn't I convince you to keep your seat? I'm certain that we could make it worth your while."

"Alas, Cornelius, I don't feel that I am telling you any great secret to say that I am getting on in my years. Frankly put, there are personal projects that I have put aside for too long. If I am to ever have a hope of seeing them through, then I simply must have more time. Especially during the Summer/Winter session."

"But is there no other way? Perhaps you could delegate more at the school."

"No, Cornelius, I'm afraid that my mind is very much made up on the matter. Now, we should discuss how to ensure that the right man succeeds me."

Of course, Albus only had one project in mind: defeating Voldemort while keeping Harry Potter alive. There were too many avenues of research now for him to spend his time in the international theatre. In another year, he would likely have to give up his seat as Chief Warlock if he did not start getting more traction. They were important positions that he held; all the more so because of Voldemort's continued existence. But Albus needed more time if he was going to save Harry.

!

Harry's alarm went off at six o'clock sharp, and he rolled out of bed, already used to the early time. Seeing that Ron was still down for the count, he nudged his mate's mattress with his foot before pushing his head through Ron's curtains. "Oy, time to get up."

Ron groaned, but he started moving. Harry turned away from him to change into some work-out clothes. Soon, he, Ron, and Hermione were traipsing down to the castle grounds.

"Okay," said Hermione. "So, we've all started running already, so I think we should all have a good idea of how far we can run without getting too tired."

Harry and Ron murmured their agreement.

"So, we'll start with that, today, and we'll take note of how far we ran, and how long it took us. And then we'll do the other exercises, and note down how we did with those."

"You just really like taking notes, Hermione, don't you?" asked Ron.

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "It's not about liking it, but they're crucial if we want to do this right. We're going to get baselines of what we can already do, and then we'll be able to track our progress, and know how hard to push ourselves each day in order to improve as much as we can, without injuring ourselves. I'll be taking care of most of it anyway, so don't complain."

"Who said I was complaining?!" asked Ron heatedly.

"It rather sounded like you were complaining," said Hermione.

"Guys, it's really early," said Harry. "Can we not?"

They both glared at him, reminding him of why he typically stayed out of their bickering.

And so, once they reached the quidditch pitch, they began warmups before running, which was followed by pushups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and an assortment of other exercises that Hermione's research had shown to be beneficial. All the while, Hermione was writing on a folded up piece of parchment with a self-inking quill that she kept in her pockets.

There was one exercise that Hermione said was used by soldiers, where at random points during the morning, she would call for them to take cover. They would then have four seconds to run and duck behind something for protection. She told them that, when they finally learned the shield charm, she wanted to have a similar drill, where they would draw their wands and shield themselves at a moments notice.

Eventually, they were finished, with the sun blanketing most of the grounds, and after stretching they trudged their way bone wearily up to the castle.

"I know I said I'd take care of everything, Harry," said Hermione, "but you're buying me a dicta-quill and a levitating clipboard."

"Yeah," said Harry, still puffing for breath, "sure."

Hermione checked her watch. "Okay, we have forty-five minutes to get cleaned up and back down to the Great Hall for breakfast, so don't collapse as soon as we get to the common room, okay?"

Considering the walk between the pitch and the Gryffindor common room, that wasn't a lot of time. Ron, considering this same thing, spoke up.

"Hermione, if our workouts get much longer, we'll need to start using freshening charms just to get to breakfast on time."

Hermione shook her head, rather than waste breath. Eventually, she said, "We'll need to find a place inside to work out anyway for when it gets colder. That should free up some time."

"Yeah," said Harry, "I can just imagine Snape finding an excuse to take points for that. Running in the halls, hiding in classrooms, and whatnot."

"We'll think of something," said Hermione.

"In the meantime," said Ron, "couldn't we just use the quidditch locker rooms? It's faster than going all the way back up to the tower. We could pack a change of clothes into our book bags, or something."

"That's a good idea, Ron," said Hermione. "We'll just need to make sure we're not in the way when they start having early morning quidditch practices on the weekends."

"Oliver wouldn't mind, I don't think," said Harry.

Parvati showed Harry the latest blurb about his vacation in Witch Weekly that morning at breakfast. It was the least informative of the three so far, yet the most sensationalized. There was a picture at the top of Harry in a swimsuit, playing volleyball. It was a muggle picture, and seemed to have been blown up and cropped to find Harry in what had been the background.

**Potter's Seaside Getaway!**

In continuing with our series on

Harry Potter's Summer trips, and

as promised, we now have details

of our Boy-Savior's second

vacation.

For one week, Harry Potter stayed

at a rented beach home with the

muggle family of one of his class-

mates, and another dorm-mate.

Harry spent the week swimming,

soaking up the sun, and playing

volleyball (a common muggle

beach game).

Given that the beach was

filled with young and attractive

beach-goers in skimpy swimming

costumes, one wonders if Harry

may have had his heart broken

for the first time when he left

for home, (that is, unless he's

already been taken by a

Hogwarts girl)!

Harry rolled his eyes and thanked a giggling Parvati for showing it to him. He supposed it was as Bill had said: when they don't have anything to say, they just make something up.

Still giggling, Parvati asked, "Is it true you really went skinny-dipping in Brazil?"

Now almost ready to start banging his head into the table, Harry just smiled and said, "When in Rome."

"Oh you did not," said Parvati, teasing.

"Well why'd you ask if you weren't going to believe me?" asked Harry.

"I just wanted to know if you'd tell me the truth if I asked about whether anyone broke your heart this summer."

Parvati was still giggling when she went back to her seat to whisper excitedly to Lavender.

"I still can't believe I share a dorm with those two," said Hermione, who didn't seem to care what Harry had or hadn't worn to swim.

"How many times do you think someone's going to ask you that question today, Harry?" asked Ron.

The answer would wind up being five; nor was Parvati the last to ask him about summer romances. It was as though people took the articles as encouragement to come up and talk to him. Harry just smiled and pretended he didn't care, though the questions felt more invasive the more people asked him. It was one thing to expound on his adventures with his dorm mates. But these other students didn't even know him in the first place.

Talk of the beach reminded Harry of something he had been meaning to do though.

"Hey Dean," he called out to his dorm mate a few seats down the breakfast table.

"Yeah?"

"Could you ask your mum if I could get copies of any vacation pictures she took? I could pay for them."

"Oh, yeah, sure," said Dean. "It's probably something like a galleon, I think."

"Thanks."

"You starting a new photo album?" asked Ron.

"Yeah, I think so," said Harry. "Your dad already said he'd get me pictures from Egypt. I think I'll ask Justin when we have Herbology together." It seemed important to Harry that he immortalize the good parts of his life.

Hermione wound up being very strict with them over breakfast, regarding what they could and could not eat. Harry and Ron both had already begun following her nutritional plans to a degree, but Hermione was much more strict than either of them had been with themselves.

"More fruit, Ron. You too, Harry. No, pumpkin juice doesn't count."

"No, eggs are the better protein, you can't just eat bacon."

"No, I said that sugar is fine in _moderation. _I'm pretty sure you'll be much more excited for whatever deserts they have for us after dinner than you are for that pastry. Honestly, why do they give us so many pastries every… Oh my goodness, would you just look at this?" Hermione suddenly said of the spectacled owl that had suddenly landed in front of her. She hurriedly relieved it of it's letter.

"Oh, they shouldn't have," said Hermione, fondly but with a hint of tears in her eyes.

"What?" asked Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry, "what is it?"

"I was going to get an owl when we went to Diagon Alley this year, but of course, we never went. So my parents went there all on their own to buy this one for me. Isn't she beautiful?"

Harry and Ron both gave vague murmurings of agreement. It was a fine owl, but Hermione was clearly affected more by sentiment than aesthetics.

"I'm going to name her Athena. Doesn't she look like an Athena?"

Hermione started cooing over her new owl, and Harry slipped her an owl treat from his book bag for her to give to it.

"I'm going to go take her up to the owlery before my Runes class. I'll see you all for Transfiguration."

Soon, Ron and Harry were off to their electives themselves. Into their book bags, they had all packed their first chapter notes for the day's classes. The plan was to go over them while they were waiting for classes to start. Harry arrived at the Arithmancy class on his own, apparently the only third year Gryffindor to have signed up for the class. Taking a seat up front, he pulled out his Arithmancy notes, trying to make sense of them as best as he could as the classroom filled with Ravenclaws and a few members of other houses. He didn't notice when Professor Vector walked in, but he looked up as she cleared her throat.

"Many of you that came to my class this morning hoping to see into the future will likely wind up wishing you had signed up for divination instead. Of course, unless you possess the Sight, it will not do you much good either. Numerology, one of the more popular studies of Arithmancy, will not show you winning lottery numbers, or tell you where to meet the love of your life. No one has ever heard a prophecy from a numerancer. It is more akin to the vague wisdom of a centaur than vague predictions of a seer. Even the ministry's best numerancers have a hard time telling whether we need to prepare for war or for a market boom.

"We will be covering an introduction to Numerology this year, and we will discus it in detail in your fifth year. But I hope that most of you have chosen this class for it's more practical studies. Arithmancy is friend to curse breakers, warders, spell creators, and ritual users. It's uses even range into architecture, family planning, and farming.

"Seven is a big number when it comes to how many children you have. Does anyone want to take a guess at why in the past century Hogwarts has hosted nine families that have consisted of seven children from the same couple, while there has been only one with six? Yes, Mr. Boot."

"Is it because seven is a magically significant number. Maybe they thought it would be lucky to have so many kids?"

"A reasonable hypothesis," said Professor Vector. "I thought of it myself, and so I've been spending my summers talking to members of such families around the world. Many tell me that they only set out to have a few children, but had a number of accidents. Other's had just never given any thought to family planning, and happened to have had seven. Other's had decided to keep going until they had a child of a certain gender. In my travels, I have found that less than one in ten of these families have said that they intentionally had seven children."

Harry was pretty sure he knew which category the Weasley's fit into, though he had never given it much thought before. Professor Vector continued on her lecture.

"My research has also found something else of note regarding these families. They have all gone on to be far more noteworthy for their accomplishments, than for their size. Perhaps, Mr. Potter, you should be commended in your choice of friends."

"Er, thank you?" said Harry.

"I see you have some notes already, could you tell us why it has been theorized that seven is considered to be magically significant?"

"Er," said Harry, before parroting back what he had written in his notes from the text."

"Very well stated," she said. "Now, would someone like to explain that in more depth?"

Harry, very aware that Hermione was not there to take notes, struggled some to keep up, wishing not for the first time that Hogwarts allowed at least mechanical typewriters.

After class, when Harry joined Ron and Hermione for Transfiguration, he found that his best friend was unusually pale and quiet.

"You okay?" he asked Ron.

Ron shook his head miserably. Hermione turned to Harry.

"He won't say what's bothering him," she said.

"It was Professor Trelawney," said Neville, his face ashen white, from where he and a number of other Gryffindors were hovering nearby. "She predicted his death!"

"What?" asked Harry in alarm.

"There was a grim in my teacup," Ron choked out.

"What's that?" asked Harry.

"It's a death portent," said Hermione, sounding concerned. "But there are other ways of interpreting it. I mean, was she sure?"

"She sure sounded sure," said Ron angrily. "I'm living on borrowed time."

"Well listen," said Harry. "Now we know, we can be careful right? Hermione and I aren't going to let anything happen to you."

"My uncle saw a grim once," said Ron miserably. "He didn't last very long."

"I said we're not going to let anything happen to you," said Harry heatedly.

"What _is_ going on here?" asked Professor McGonagall, as she approached the group.

"It's Ron," said Lavender, looking to be near tears. "Professor Trelawney predicted his death!"

Instead of looking alarmed, Professor McGonagall face transformed into an expression of exasperation.

"Do stop looking so morose, Mr. Weasley," she said. "Professor Trelawney has predicted the death of a new student every year since she has arrived. A way of welcoming a new cohort of students, I suppose. As none of them have died yet, I think you'll excuse me for telling you to chin up, and make sure you do your homework tonight."

"Really?" asked Ron, who had a little more color in his face now.

"Indeed," said Professor McGonagall as she opened the classroom door. "Now if you will all please take your seats."

Transfiguration proceeded after that, with an impressive presentation on the animagus transformation. Hermione led them all in a quick study session after the class let out to review the lesson, before they all went to lunch. If Ron's appetite was anything to judge by, he had fully recovered from the shock of the mornings Divination class.

After lunch, they all trudged across the grounds to Care of Magical Creatures, which went superbly, considering both that the class was the teacher's first, and that that teacher was Hagrid. Harry got to have an exhilarating ride on a hippogriff, which Hermione couldn't be peeved at him for, because it had been a teacher's idea. As an added bonus, Malfoy got a detention for trying to rile one of the hippogriffs, and could have been injured. At the end, Harry was torn between hoping for more classes like it, and quietly supporting Hermione in her belief that Hagrid needed to start off with some tamer creatures.

When they got back to the castle, they all made their way to a small classroom near Gryffindor tower where they could study in solitude. According to Hermione's schedules, this was time for them to explain what they had learned about their individual electives. Hermione went first, explaining that the school year would be focused on learning Egyptian, and Elder and Younger Futhark.

"For the rest of the term, we will be learning basic grammar, and the fifty most common runes for each language," she explained. "Once we've built a solid base in all three languages, we will all use the Draught of Many Tongues to plow through the rest so that we're proficient in the languages by the end of the year."

"Draught of Many Tongues?" asked Harry.

"It's how wizards like Dumbledore learn so many languages," said Ron. "Percy's used it a few times, until he couldn't handle any more. This year, he's just working on becoming more fluent on the languages he learned "

"So there's a limit on it?" asked Harry.

"It's different for every witch or wizard," said Hermione. "Some leave Hogwarts still having the capacity to learn a dozen more languages with the potion. Other's fizzle out after forth year. Now the school will be providing me with the potion, since I'm in the class, but we're going to need to contact an apothecary to get some for the two of you. It's supposed to be pretty expensive, and it's horrible when you use it, so you'll want to be sure about going forward with it."

"I'll do it," said Harry.

"Percy had some horror stories about it, alright," said Ron with a grimace. "But I'll do it."

Hermione beamed at them both before pulling out her notes and taking them through the basics of Elder Futhark, and it's literary and magical applications. Ron followed her up with the basics of tea leaf reading, though past the excitement of that morning, he seemed a little more dubious of the craft. Finally, Harry explained what he had learned about Arithmancy. Ron couldn't confirm that the Weasley parents had just been trying for a girl, but stated that it was a common theory among his siblings. After that, they started on their homework.

After dinner, they worked on spell practice, both for on-curriculum and off-curriculum spells. Harry was finding that he had a knack for many of the defensive spells that Hermione had found for them, generally mastering them before either of his friends. Following Hermione's advice about teaching as a form of studying, he helped Ron and Hermione with their wand-work.

They found themselves with quite a lot more free time than Hermione had scheduled, simply because the school year had yet to fully get into swing. Harry took the opportunity to spend more time practicing his fiddle, which he was grudgingly becoming fond of. He also felt that he was almost getting the hang of meditation, though he did not feel that he was getting much use out of it as of yet.

!

Sirius scratched his head as he read the Witch Weekly article that he had scrounged from the trash in Hogsmeade. He normally would not have bothered with the rag, but he had seen his godson's name on the cover.

He was a little taken aback by the name 'Boy-Who-Lived', and the title, 'Potter Summer Watch'. Harry was the baby who's nappies he had helped change, not some public figure with his own honorifics.

Still though. Sirius started chuckling. Harry sounded like a chip off of the old block, if he was getting up to as much mischief as the article made it sound. He wondered if the boy was the same at Hogwarts as he was in Germany. Although, he couldn't imagine James taking up an instrument. Maybe Harry had the best parts of both parents.

Sirius resolved to keep his eyes open for more issues of Witch Weekly. Hopefully, he'd be able to learn a little more about his godson. Aside from spotting the boy exercising at an ungodly hour of the morning, he knew next to nothing about him. It was a lousy way to learn about his own godson, but for the time being, he didn't have any options. The rat had to die, and Sirius would kill him.

!

Remus nearly spat out his coffee when he found the latest 'Summer Potter Watch' in the staff room. The ones previous had been outrageously invasive, but this was taking things too far. Speculating on the love life of a thirteen-year-old boy, while talking about people in skimpy clothes. Not that that first article had been much better. Lily would have been furious, though James would have probably laughed. Remus could not imagine what manner of effect this kind of attention would have on the poor boy though.

Already, Harry had a wild quality about him. Remus had heard tales of daredevil stunts and death defying heroics. He had also observed the boy's somewhat extreme diligence towards this apparent alternative lifestyle that he and his friends were involved in. Coupled with Albus's cryptic requests to tutor Harry in advanced magics, and Remus was worried. In his opinion, this intense public scrutiny was the last thing that needed to be tossed on the fire.

!

The next day, they repeated the same pattern, but with Charms, Herbology and Astronomy. Hermione complained about the necessity of disrupting their sleep schedule for the later class, wondering aloud why they could not use an artificial night-scape instead, removing the necessity of night classes. The day after started normally enough with Double Potions, which went about as well as could be expected. Neville was reduced to a quivering nervous wreck, but this was a regular occurrence in Snape's classroom. Then during lunch though, Harry received a note from Professor Dumbledore, asking Harry to meet him after classes. After lunch, the Gryffindors had their first Defense class with the new professor.

Professor Lupin shook things up straight away by taking them to the staff room in order to tackle a boggart, which was a creature that could take the form of whatever you were most afraid of. They were combated by turning them into something funny instead. The lesson started out swimmingly, spoiled only briefly by Snape's initial presence in the staff room; Harry got points for answering a question, and Neville got to dress Snape, his greatest fear, like his grandmother. But then, when everyone else had had a chance to face the boggart, when it was just Harry left with the boggart right in front of him, the professor had got in the way, blocking him.

Harry did not know if the professor had simply forgotten that Harry had not yet gone, or if he did not think Harry capable after the Dementor incident, but he wasn't going to have any of it, and so he went around the professor. He fully expected to face a dementor, and was fully prepared to use a little slapstick humor to neutralize it. But the boggart did not cooperate.

Instead of a dementor standing before him, Harry found himself confronted with Hermione and Ron, both clearly dead on the floor, though there was not a mark on them. The entire room stilled as Harry's breath hitched at the most unexpected and unwelcome sight.

'They're just sleeping,' he told himself, and with a wave of his wand, it was so. Ron was using Hermione's arm as a pillow, and there was an impressive puddle of drool dampening her arm. Not terribly funny, but… With that, he walked out of the room, ignoring all those that called after him. Fortunately, he made it to the nearest bathroom before he brought his lunch back up.

Harry made his way miserably to History of Magic just ahead of the bell, aware of just how many eyes were on him, but determined not to care. If he could handle being the main suspect last year, he could handle this. Ron and Hermione gave him sympathetic glances as he sat dawn.

Hermione had conceded before, very begrudgingly, that History of Magic was not a crucial class for him, and so Harry was putting no more effort into paying attention to Professor Binns's droning voice than the years previous. Instead, he took the opportunity to write in his diary and do some revision, freeing up time for himself later. No doubt he'd be reading Hermione's history notes later anyway.

After class Ron and Hermione stuck with him, though he had already told them that he was going to be seeing Professor Dumbledore.

"How often do you worry about us dying?" asked Hermione.

Harry shrugged. "Often enough."

"We're not going anywhere, mate," said Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry, "not if I can help it."

"You still don't really care about your own life, do you, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Harry heatedly.

"It means," said Hermione, "that everyone else was afraid of something that could have hurt them."

"Yeah, well, I survive just fine, don't I," said Harry, tired of having to affirm his will to live. "It's everyone else who dies when Voldemort tries to kill me, isn't it? My parents died. Quirrell died. Ginny almost died. Oh yeah, and let's not forget Dobby. So yeah, I'm scared it'll be you two next."

"But still-" Hermione started.

"I want to live," Harry interrupted. "Maybe I'm not as scared of death as I should be, but I want to live. Okay?"

"Okay," said Hermione, frustrated.

"Anyway," said Ron, "you alright?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "It just caught me by surprise, was all. I was expecting something else."

"It gave _us_ the chills," said Ron. "Just a couple days from my death omen too."

"Oh, it was not a death omen," said Hermione.

"Just because she does it every year, doesn't mean there wasn't a grim in that cup," said Ron.

"It was _not_ a death omen," said Harry heatedly.

"I was just saying," Ron muttered.

They were silent until they reached the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office, where Harry told them that he would see them again in the common room.

"Ah, Harry, come in," the headmaster greeted him when he knocked on the door.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" asked Harry.

"So I did, my boy. So I did. First, I wanted to see how you were doing. A run-in with a dementor is nothing to be trifled with."

"I think I'm okay, sir," said Harry. "School's been going well, and it's really good to have my friends back here."

"Of course," said Professor Dumbledore. "I do believe, Harry, that they may be one of your greatest strengths."

Harry nodded. "They've been great," he said, though he wished that they were better about dropping subjects that he didn't want to discuss.

"Excellent," said Professor Dumbledore. "I understand that Professor Lupin led the class in defeating a boggart today. He mentioned that he was concerned that yours might take the form of a dementor, and was considering not allowing you to face it. Knowing you though, I considered that you may have done so anyway."

Was that why the man had tried to stop Harry from facing the thing? "I had thought so too, sir," said Harry, "about the boggart. Turned out we were wrong, though. But I handled it okay anyway."

"Ah, that is a relief then," said Professor Dumbledore.

Harry frowned. "I mean, obviously I have a problem with dementors, but that doesn't mean that I can't handle something that just looks like one. I mean, everyone was afraid of something."

"Ah," said Professor Dumbledore, "this may be helping you with your Defense homework, Harry, but you should know that boggarts can mimic, to an extent, the abilities of many of the creatures that they take the form of, including the dementor."

"Oh," said Harry, paling at the thought of what could have happened if he had summoned a dementor into the defense classroom.

"Now," said Professor Dumbledore, "the other reason that I have brought you here is to let you know that the horcrux hunt is officially on. I have been collecting memories regarding Tom Riddle, looking for clues. There are three questions that we need to ask, Harry: How many horcruxes have been made? What have they been made from? And lastly, where have they been hidden? I would like you to take part in helping to answer these questions."

"Really?" asked Harry, astonished. Professor Dumbledore had been remarkably open with information so far, but this was the first time that Harry was being taken seriously for the undertaking of an adult task. He could still remember the horrible feeling from first year, when they had gone to Professor McGonagall about the stone and she had not believed them. To be asked to take part in the horcrux hunt was shocking juxtaposition.

"Indeed, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "You certainly have the right, in this instance, to be involved. Further, well, I dare say that I have learned not to underestimate your ability to solve a mystery."

"Well," said Harry, "you know, with my friends' help."

"And I'm certain that they will continue to be of aid. Now, before we begin, I also wanted to tell you that though I have no concrete results of yet, I am still following leads where your condition is concerned. By the time we do track down a horcrux, I hope to be able to perform experiments upon it to test any possible methods we may find."

Harry nodded to show he understand, but he did not say anything, not wanting to dwell too much on the hope of safely removing the horcrux.

"Now Harry, have you ever heard of a Pensive?"

A half an hour later, Harry stared thoughtfully out the window as Professor Dumbledore put away the pensive; a stone basin that held memories which they had entered like a portal to the past. The memories that the headmaster had collected had been so vivid, not a detail seemed to be missing, though there were some details Harry wished he could have ignored.

"So, Harry, what do you think?" asked the Professor.

"It's um, it's strange," said Harry.

"Oh?" asked the Professor.

"I didn't expect to see so much of myself in him," said Harry.

"I dare say the similarities are only superficial," said Professor Dumbledore. "That you are both orphans, with cruel childhoods are things that have happened to you, but it is your choices that make you different."

"Yeah, but, I don't know, there was a while when I was younger, before I came to Hogwarts, maybe I was nine or something, I just got really bitter. You know, I was realizing how messed up everything was, and I just hated it so much."

"A perfectly reasonable response," said Professor Dumbledore.

"I mean, I never hurt anyone, so there's that."

"You chose to embrace your humanity, Harry, while Tom chose to reject it. Your capacity to love, and to care for others, is something that Tom rejected from a very young age and never recovered."

Harry nodded. "How did he wind up in a muggle orphanage though?" asked Harry.

"I have been looking into Tom's origins," said Professor Dumbledore, "and have my sights on a few promising leads. "But as I understand it, his mother, a witch, was estranged from her family when she gave birth to him, and she died during child birth in a muggle facility. Meanwhile, his father had rejected the woman when he found that she was a witch."

"Wait," said Harry, "you mean his father was a muggle?"

"Hm, you must never assume that a person truly conforms to their stated politics, Harry. While there can be no doubt that Voldemort detests muggles, I somehow doubt that he fully holds with the pureblood rhetoric. Rather, it is a tool that he has wielded to gain followers, who are, of course, ignorant of his heritage. Now, you will notice that he had a fascination at that age with collecting trophies," said Professor Dumbledore.

"Do you think that that sort of translated over to horcruxes?" asked Harry.

"It very well may have," said Professor Dumbledore. "Certainly, we can be reasonably sure that his diary was something very meaningful to him."

"I was wondering though," said Harry.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering why he kept all of their things where anyone could find them like that. I mean, if I were him, I'd have hidden it all somewhere that couldn't be linked to me," said Harry.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "It may be that he would not have been content leaving his possessions somewhere that was not wholly his own."

"Then if he's the same way with Horcruxes…" said Harry.

"Then we can expect that he has not done the wise thing, and hidden them in completely random locations. Were he more clever, we would never have come across his diary."

"But if he want's to leave them in places that are his, then why did he give the diary to Malfoy?" asked Harry.

"Such is the nature of Voldemort's relationship with his followers, Harry. In Tom's eyes, Lucius Malfoy is nothing more than his own personal property."

"Could he have given horcruxes to other Death Eaters?" asked Harry.

"It's certainly a possibility," said Professor Dumbledore. "There were few Death Eaters more trusted than Lucius, but there are some that he may have also chosen. I will be visiting the ministry in a week's time, and I will use the opportunity to search what remains of ceded property of captured Death Eaters. We may get lucky."

Harry didn't trust luck. "Do you think Sirius Black could have been entrusted with one?" asked Harry.

"I don't believe that he would have, no," said Professor Dumbledore. "In spite of what the media would have you believe, Sirius Black was likely never more than a spy to Voldemort. An important one, to be certain, but not the right hand man he is portrayed as."

"Then he was supposed to have been on our side then," said Harry, surprised.

"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore, "I worked with him myself. Alas, I knew that he had his faults, but at the time I would have never believed that he would betray his many friends among us."

"If he was just a spy then, why does he want me dead so much?" asked Harry. "Why not whoever arrested him, or something?"

"Twelve years ago, perhaps, he would have been content for you to live in peace," said Professor Dumbledore. "But after twelve years in Azkaban?" Harry shivered. "With only negative thoughts to keep him company, I dare say it makes a certain sense that he would fixate on you as perhaps being responsible for his change in fortunes."

"I guess," said Harry. "Oh," he said, having an idea, "maybe I could keep notes about all of this, so I could brainstorm with Ron and Hermione. Is there any way to keep other people from reading them."

"Well, we could certainly put a strong locking charm on something like a diary, but that would only keep out casual snooping."

"Oh," said Harry, "how about making it so only someone who really wants to personally fight and defeat Voldemort can read it. Kind of like how you defended the Philosopher's Stone."

"Well, if you had asked me back then, I would have told you that such magic would have required the use of the mirror itself," said Professor Dumbledore

"But now?" asked Harry.

"Having delved further into the mirror's magic, however, I can indeed create such a protection," said Professor Dumbledore.

Harry smiled and pulled his diary out of his robe pocket. Not being content with leaving his personal thoughts lying around to be found, he carried it with him most of the time. He held it out to the professor.

"No Harry, I think it will be best if you hold onto it. I want you to concentrate on why you want to defeat Voldemort."

It was a simple thing. Harry had seen his friends' lifeless form just a few hours back. Professor Dumbledore began incanting. It was beyond anything that Harry had ever witnessed, a kind of magic far removed from the classrooms of Hogwarts. Harry felt in awe just witnessing it.

"Now, do keep this on your person, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "As we learned in your first year, this is not a perfect defense."

"Oh, I already do, Professor," said Harry.

"Good, good. In fact, I hope to incorporate similar protections into the castle wards, in order to protect against future Quirrells. Of course, it is a few orders of magnitude more difficult, and likely won't happen until after you leave Hogwarts."

"That's a shame," said Harry. "What with how I attract trouble."

"My thoughts as well," mused Professor Dumbledore. "Well, I won't keep you any longer from your studies, Harry. I understand you have been keeping to quite a regimen. How has that been going?"

"Oh, I guess I'm still getting used to it," said Harry, "but actually it's been working out pretty well."

"Excellent," said Professor Dumbledore. "Well, I will contact you again when I have more information. In the meantime, feel free to come to me if you have any concerns."

"I will sir, thank you," said Harry.

"That being said," said Professor Dumbledore, "as my time will be largely spoken for, I have asked Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Lupin to be available for any tutoring you need with spell-casting."

"Oh," said Harry in surprise, "okay. I'll keep that in mind." That was almost too good to be true. They had been having trouble learning the basic shield charm. With that, they bade each other good day, and Harry left the office.

!

Albus watched Harry's retreating back with a frown. He wondered if the only reason he was being as open with Harry about the Horcrux hunt as he was, was because he was already keeping a secret from the boy. A secret that Harry deserved to know.

Harry still had no clue that Sirius Black was anything other than an escaped Death Eater who happened to want to kill him. Albus knew that Harry had a right to the knowledge that he was withholding, but he worried. Harry was much better than he had been the year previous, but he was still an emotionally volatile young man. What would he do if he knew the truth?

Harry had come so close to throwing his life away the year previous. Albus didn't know if Harry would risk his life or not trying to pursue Black. Meanwhile, Albus was loathe to continue holding the prophecy over Harry's head in order to keep him from doing anything rash. Particularly when he still didn't know if there was any way to keep the boy alive.

Albus had an appointment with the head Gringotts curse-breaker. If there was any known way to preserve the vessel of a horcrux, the treasure hungry bank would likely have already gotten it's hands on the knowledge. Albus only wished that he could be more hopeful that they would have the answer. He had told Harry that he hoped to have a few avenues of attacking the problem once they had a horcrux to experiment on, but they would be lucky to have even one.

A/N: I'm so sorry that this took so long. I really should have had this out a long time ago, though I can use grad school as at least part of an excuse. The good news is that I've graduated, so I should have more time to write now.

I didn't go into this chapter expecting to need to do so much research on Amazon Tribes, but that section of the story kind of got away from me. What was supposed to be a fun little side note about Harry's summer vacation has turned into something more. I didn't set out to tell a story about child celebrity, nor about Harry's burgeoning adolescence, but I've learned to let the story take me to places I didn't plan on going.

With any luck, I'll have another chapter out to you in not too long. I just hope that my upcoming employment doesn't take away too much writing time.


	17. 16 Requirement

Requirement

_"Open,"_ Harry hissed at the sink, which started sliding back.

"I must admit," said Professor Dumbledore, "I am still struck by the location of the entrance."

"I guess he figured that no one would look here," said Harry.

"That may well be the case," Professor Dumbledore mused.

"So um, basically, it's like a slide all the way down. Under the lake, I think," said Harry.

"I think that I would prefer a different mode of travel," said Professor Dumbledore. From his robes, he pulled out a small patch of cloth, which he enlarged to reveal a flying carpet.

"Normally, this would be illegal," said Professor Dumbledore. "However, the school has special dispensation for our NEWT students to make a study of them. I rather thought that it might come in handy for this endeavor."

"Cool," said Harry.

"Shall we then?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

Harry nodded, and together, they boarded the carpet, which sat just an inch off the ground. Harry expected his foot to press a section of the carpet down to the tile floor, but instead it held firm. Once they were both seated, Professor Dumbledore directed the carpet to take them down. The ride was a lot smoother this time, though also a lot longer since they were not going at break-neck speeds.

Once they arrived at the base of the tunnel, Professor Dumbledore brandished his wand, producing a brilliant light that fully illuminated the area. The eerie bone strewn tunnel was much improved from its previous gloom. They stepped off the carpet.

"And to think," said Professor Dumbledore, "for the last thousand years, only six other people have stood where we are standing, Harry."

"I never thought of that," said Harry. "It's kind of weird."

"I must commend you again, Harry, for thinking to search here."

"Well it was Hermione who mentioned that the basilisk might not be the only secret in the Chamber of Secrets. When you showed me how Voldemort came back to Hogwarts, I kind of put two and two together."

"Well, one way or another, we are going to make our resident potions master very happy."

"Yay," Harry deadpanned quietly. "Do you think we'll find a horcrux?" he asked in a louder voice.

"No," admitted Professor Dumbledore, causing Harry's shoulders to slump. "I don't believe that Tom had enough time to make his way down to the chamber on the day he came to interview. Unless he made a second Horcrux before he left school, he would never have managed to hide one down here."

"So why did you agree to come down here?" asked Harry.

"Besides making our potions master a very happy man?" asked Professor Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eyes. "I didn't think it could hurt to check. It is also good practice should you come with me on future expeditions to search out horcruxes. Now remember my instructions: follow my every direction, even if you disagree; stay behind me; and touch nothing unless I have told you you may."

"I will, sir," said Harry.

"Good lad," said Professor Dumbledore as he set off towards the entrance to the main chamber.

"Do you think Slytherin left any other secrets down here?" asked Harry.

"Well I should hope that he did not simply leave to his heir a basilisk and a school with which to unleash it in," said Professor Dumbledore. "However, the question is, if there were other secrets here, did Tom leave them for someone else to find."

"What do you think?" asked Harry.

"I think it depends on how convinced Tom was that he would one day take Hogwarts into his possession, and whether or not he would have been able to take what was left with him."

"Or on if he found them or not," said Harry.

Professor Dumbledore looked at Harry speculatively for a moment before nodding. "We shall see," he said.

Professor Dumbledore cast detection spells from time to time as they went along, at other's he would stare at some section or another of wall or floor. Always, he made sure that Harry was behind him. Finally, they made it to the large vault like door, sealed by bronze snakes.

"Should I open it?" asked Harry.

"In a moment," said Professor Dumbledore, inspecting the area. After a minute, he motioned for Harry to give the command.

"_Open," _he hissed.

Again, Professor Dumbledore advanced slowly, Harry trailing behind. Eventually, the Basilisk came into view.

"Incredible," whispered Professor Dumbledore.

"You should have seen it when it was alive," said Harry.

As they walked deeper into the chamber, Harry saw Professor Dumbledore's gaze get drawn to a patch of stained ground. Blood stained.

Harry realized suddenly that it was his own blood, from when he had collapsed from the basilisk venom, the blood flowing from the wound he had inflicted upon himself. Harry looked away, pretending to be very interested in the corpse of the basilisk.

"The body looks like it's in good condition," he said, mostly to change the silent subject at hand.

"Yes," said Professor Dumbledore, pulled from his musings. "Fortunately, the basilisk's body is so poisonous itself, it will be a while before it truly starts rotting away. Stay where you are, Harry. And watch."

A shrunken trunk was first produced, which the Professor enlarged and opened. He then began incanting. It was not a single spell, but rather a long series of them. With movements like a conductor, the Professor directed the carcass through the process, which to Harry's eye appeared as though the snake's body were disassembling itself. It was gruesome and fascinating all at the same time, not to mention awe-inspiring on Professor Dumbledore's part.

The different basilisk parts began to fly into the trunk; the clinking of glass the only indication that they were being sorted into specimen jars. The process took nearly ten minutes to complete, and when it was finished, not a trace of the king of serpents was left in the chamber. Even the damaged stone columns were repaired, and Harry's blood was gone as well.

"Woah," said Harry finally.

"Now Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, "if you were Salazar Slytherin, where do you think you would have hidden additional secret things?"

"Well," said Harry. "He hid the entrance in a girls' bathroom."

"True," said Professor Dumbledore.

"But everything since then has been kind of obvious."

"Astute as well," said Professor Dumbledore.

"So, maybe, if there were anymore secrets to be found, they'd be in an obvious place, but where you wouldn't look?"

"Which leaves us with what, exactly?"

"The statue," said Harry. "Well, _all_ of the carvings maybe, but I'd start with the big one, where the snake came from."

"An excellent deduction," said Professor Dumbledore. "Let us check it first then." And from within a fold in his robe, he produced again the flying carpet. At Professor Dumbledore's instruction, Harry took a seat, though Professor Dumbledore remained standing this time. With a wave of his off-hand, they rose into the air, and sailed towards the still-open mouth of Salazar Slytherin.

At Professor Dumbledore's direction, the carpet stopped just short of the mouth, and he again began casting detection spells about the area. Perhaps because they were going into uncharted territory, he took far longer this time than he had the times before. Eventually though, he was satisfied, and the carpet moved forward.

Harry tensed as they approached the opening, the prospect of being swallowed whole daunting. But nothing happened when they entered. Again, Professor Dumbledore illuminated the interior of the statue such that everything was cast in perfect clarity, which did not make for a pretty sight. The walls of the basilisk sized tunnel were grimy, and that was only the entrance to a larger chamber. The basilisk's home was covered in slimy waste, animal remains, and more than a few shed skins. The only source of cleanliness was a pool of crystal clear water, which shimmered in the Professor's light. With a wave of the Professor's wand, everything but the pool of water was vanished.

Harry gratefully took in a breath of fresh air as Professor Dumbledore took the carpet down to land in the chamber.

"For the moment, Harry, please stay with the carpet," said the Professor, as he himself dismounted and started walking around.

Here, the walls were bare, unadorned except for centuries' worth of wear and tear. However, Professor Dumbledore certainly seemed to be finding _something_ interesting. With certainty, he was walking towards a patch of floor that seemed no different than any other. Once arrived, he began circling the area, his eyes seeing something that Harry's did not. Eventually, he stood still, and with a wave of his wand, a marking on the floor was revealed. From his spot on the carpet however, Harry could not make it out. He was not to be left in ignorance, however.

"Come here, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "There's something here that seems to require your expertise."

Harry suddenly had a very good idea of what it was that Professor Dumbledore's spell had revealed on the floor. Sure enough, when he reached the spot where the Professor stood, Harry saw that there was an engraving of a snake.

"How did you know it was there?" asked Harry.

"When you have been around as much magic as I have," said Professor Dumbledore, "for as long as I have, your senses begin to take in more than just the mundane."

Harry nodded. "Does that mean that Voldemort never found this, since he was young when he found the chamber?" he asked.

"Oh, I dare say that Tom likely never ventured in here," said Professor Dumbledore.

"Why not?" asked Harry.

"Why did you think that Salazar Slytherin would hide something here?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"Because, you'd have to be a little crazy to want to visit the lair of a basilisk," said Harry.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "By most accounts, in spite of what you hear around this school, Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor had far more in common than they had differences. I dare say, Salazar would have wanted his heir to have the brashness to enter here, yet Tom has only ever crept from the shadows when absolutely necessary." He gestured to the engraving. "If you would do the honors, Harry?"

"_Open,_" said Harry.

Professor Dumbledore ushered Harry back as the ground began to open up, and a set of stairs led downward. Again, he cast his detection spells before they began moving forward again.

The moment the Professor's brilliant light illuminated the room, Harry's eyes went wide. It was the smallest chamber they had encountered so far, but it held by far the most. There were a diversity of items, but Harry's eyes were drawn to the treasure; piles of gold, silver, and gems.

"Say Professor," said Harry. "Have I ever told you about how the school teams should all be riding standardized brooms?"

"Oh?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"To make things fair," said Harry. "You know, match the 2001's on the Slytherin team, or my own broom."

"That would be an expensive endeavor, Harry," Professor Dumbledore mused, though his eyes were twinkling. "I'm not sure that the school board would go for such a frivolous expense."

"Okay, first of all, it's quidditch. Second, well, the school could sure use a morale boost what with all these dementors around."

"A fair point," said Professor Dumbledore.

In addition to the treasure, there were books, magical items, and weapons in abundance. Harry couldn't touch anything, but he was given permission to walk around and look at the various items. After about an hour of examining everything, Professor Dumbledore packed everything into his magical trunk, and together they made their way out to the main chamber.

"Now Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, "from what I can ascertain, there is one more hidden chamber within this complex. Where do you think it is?"

Harry looked around, searching for inspiration. "Should I try talking to the snakes carved into the pillars?" he asked.

"No," said Professor Dumbledore, "unless I am much mistaken, they are but stone."

Harry turned in place, trying to spot anything that was strange or out of place. There was nothing though. Just stone pillars, the statue, and the entrance.

"Wait," he said. "Where...where's the light coming from?"

"A very good question," said Professor Dumbledore. "I believe that they come from a handful of eternal torches."

"But where?" asked Harry.

"Look around, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore patiently.

"It's kind of coming from everywhere," said Harry.

"Everywhere?" asked Professor Dumbledore leadingly.

"Wait," said Harry. "Just from the side walls."

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Follow me," he said. "And believe that the walls are not real."

"Not real?" asked Harry, as he followed the Professor, who promptly disappeared through the nearest wall.

"Oh," said Harry, and followed through. It wasn't unlike the barrier at Platform 9 3/4, but instead of now being in a separate space, the wall now behind him, it was as though the chamber had simply grown, from one step to another, or that the wall had simply vanished.

Skirting all around the chamber was a living space. There were carpets on the floor, a bed in one corner, and an area that seemed to function as a study. On the other side of the chamber, there was what appeared to be a training area for spell casting. And on one of the walls, in large red letters, was written, "Should any follow after me, know that you were preceded by Lord Voldemort."

"Huh," said Harry. "Tom was here," he quipped.

"Indeed he was," said Professor Dumbledore. "Aside from the message he left behind, it is clear that he has carried away all of the tomes that were kept here, as well as a fair few other objects."

"That's another reason why he probably never found the other chamber," said Harry. "If he thought he'd already found everything."

"I dare say, Salazar was not keen on sharing his full legacy with any but a supremely worthy heir."

"What do you think he would have thought about Voldemort?" asked Harry. "Even if he didn't find the treasure."

"It is very difficult to say," said Professor Dumbledore. "The truth is, very little fact is known about the founders, for all of the stories that we tell. For every scholar who tells the dark tale of the Chamber of Secrets, there is another who believes that the monster existed only to protect the school from external threats. Some suggest that Salazar feared muggles, rather than having any hatred of muggleborns."

"Why would he be afraid of muggles?" asked Harry, who had learned of the uselessness of the Salem Witch trials.

"There were times when muggles were far more capable of identifying witches and wizards, and if so inclined, more likely to try to kill them with conventional weapons by surprise, than with fire after a trial. One thing that scholars can agree upon is that all of the founders had known many young and untrained witches and wizards to die by muggle hands. It was largely for this reason that they decided to create Hogwarts. Not just as a place of learning, but as a haven as well."

"Some scholars believe that Salazar wanted to protect muggleborns as well as purebloods, but he was wary of them betraying our kind to their muggle families. There are more, of course, who believe that he held by blood purity, and that would certainly be supported more by his criteria for his House. Whether he did or not though, most agree that he was a person who believed in nobility and benevolence. Most also believe that he became mad in the end, though whether from spell, disease, or through personal tragedy is lost to time. Perhaps when he did leave, he hoped that the basilisk would be used to purge the school, rather than protect it; that truth is also lost. But if we judge him when he was the best person he could be, rather than at his lowest point, I believe that regardless of what he believed about blood purity, he would be horrified by Tom. For Tom is singular in his quest for power; he thirsts for cruelty; and he is more than willing to destroy our world, rather than not have it for himself."

"Too bad he didn't leave behind a portrait to say so," said Harry.

"It is unfortunate that the technology did not exist then," said Professor Dumbledore.

"It didn't?" asked Harry.

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. "A thousand years ago, the walls of Hogwarts were very quiet indeed."

All that was left in the chamber was mundane in nature, and there was very little evidence to show what had been taken. In the end though, Professor Dumbledore was certain that there was no Horcrux contained within the Chamber of Secrets.

"I don't know," said Harry, "I still think he would have wanted to hide something in Hogwarts."

"Whether he did or not," said Professor Dumbledore, "it seems that I was correct in assuming that he had not had enough time to come down here. Voldemort wanted Hogwarts, Harry, but I can think of no place but this in the castle that Voldemort would have felt was truly his already."

"Maybe some other hidden part of the castle," said Harry, "if he thought he was the only one who knew about it."

"Perhaps," Professor Dumbledore mused. "I will review my memories of that day, and determine a range within which Tom may have detoured."

Harry nodded. That was the best they could do for now.

"Do not be too disappointed, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore as they rode the carpet up the tunnel to the second floor girls lavatory. "Today was hardly a waste of time."

"It's just that we have so much ahead of us," said Harry.

"Fortunately, we have time with which to accomplish our goals," said Professor Dumbledore. "In the meantime, do continue thinking of likely hiding places for Horcruxes."

Harry nodded. "What do we do next?" asked Harry.

"Next, we continue studying the enemy."

!

"Protego!" cried Hermione to no effect.

"Protego!" cried Harry, to no effect.

"Protego!" cried Ron, similarly to no effect.

"I just don't understand why we're not getting this," said Hermione with an indignant huff.

"It's a fifth year spell," Ron pointed out.

"That shouldn't stop us," said Hermione. "I understand the theory, and we've been doing alright with the other advanced spells."

"Some spells are just hard," said Ron, not for the first time.

"Maybe we shouldn't practice on full stomachs," Harry added.

"Oh, don't blame lunch," said Hermione. "It's never been a problem before."

"Well, we're doing something wrong," said Harry.

"But what?" cried Hermione. "We've been at this all week."

"So, let's um, let's ask Professor Lupin," said Harry. "Professor Dumbledore said we could go to him if we had any defense questions."

"I suppose we aught to," said Hermione.

"I don't know," said Ron dubiously. "The defense professor?"

"He seems more than competent," said Hermione. Harry shrugged.

"Mark my words," said Ron, "by years end, he's going to have attacked Harry."

"Not every defense teacher is going to attack Harry," Hermione scoffed.

"Well, until he does, let's see if he can help," said Harry.

"I bet Lockhart would have, given the chance," Ron said confidently. "Mind, I wouldn't have been over worried about it. He couldn't do anything right."

"Well, we never really got to see what Professor Lockhart was capable of," said Hermione.

"Nah, we saw enough," said Ron.

"Oh, you just didn't like him because he was popular with the girls," said Hermione.

"Ah ha!" said Ron triumphantly. "You did have a crush on him!"

"I never said that!" said Hermione.

Harry tuned them out as they packed up and headed out for the Defense classroom. For a change, he was in complete agreement with Ron, though he wasn't sure why Ron cared so much about Hermione having a crush on the idiot.

Harry's mind drifted to the 'detention' he had served last night, which was really an excuse to go through Madam Pince's catalog of past book rentals. Harry had been tasked with compiling a list of all of the books that Tom Riddle had checked out of the library. Of course, it wouldn't show what books he had merely perused from within Madam Pince's sanctum, but it could give more insight into his interests and intentions. Harry had been nearly shocked by some of the dark materials that the library had had fifty years ago, that Tom had had access to. He had already sent the list back up to Professor Dumbledore, they planned to go over it later to see what they could find.

Around him, the conversation had finally turned to the sorry state of Ron's rat Scabbers though, when Malfoy showed up.

"Potter, I can't believe you're still in school," said Malfoy, dropping in as though he were walking with them.

"What's this, Malfoy?" asked Harry. "Did you make an attempt to have me expelled so inept, no one's even heard about it?"

"You do know you're going to be _late_ to your next class if you keep following us, don't you?" asked Hermione.

Malfoy ignore Harry's response and sneered at Hermione. "If it was me, I'd have chased after Black myself. But then, thus is the honor and nobility of the Malfoy line."

"Yeah, I'm sure you'd like it a lot if I went after one of your dad's old cronies," said Harry, rolling his eyes. Not that he wouldn't like a shot at the man if he showed up, but Harry was hardly going to stake out on his own to go after the man, forsaking school and training.

"And the Malfoy line can eat shite and die," Ron commented, much to Hermione's dismay.

Malfoy ignored Ron though, seeming determined to get a rise out of Harry. "Well that's the coward in you, Potter. Too scared to stand up to muggles, let alone Black."

"You think if you throw enough dirt, I'm going to snap, Malfoy?" asked Harry.

"And what would you do if you snapped Potter? You've already ignored what Black's done. What those muggles did. You're as pathetic as a house elf, let anyone walk all-."

CRUNCH!

This was the sound Malfoy's nose made as Harry's fist broke it.

"Thad's my nothe, you babareen!" Malfoy cried as he fumbled for his wand.

"Harry!" Hermione admonished, shortly before:

"MR. POTTER!" called Professor McGonagall.

Harry was dismayed to hear her voice, but too angry with Malfoy to care very much. He glared balefully at the boy, who had stopped trying to draw his wand when Professor McGonagall's voice had rung out. Now, he was grinning triumphantly, though it wasn't easy to see behind his blood-stained hands.

"Ten points from Gryffindor!" exclaimed the Professor. "And a detention!"

"He hid me in de nothe for no redon!" exclaimed Malfoy.

"And what are you doing here, when your class is on the other side of the castle?" asked Professor Mcgonagall.

"He just came to taunt Harry, Professor," Ron complained. Harry was too busy glaring at Malfoy to muster his own defense.

"We use words to combat words, Mr. Weasley," said Professor McGonagall. "Off to the infirmary with you, boy," she said to Malfoy. "And remember that if I catch you harassing your fellow students, it will be you serving detention."

Malfoy sneered at Harry before he slinked off.

"Now off to class with the lot of you," said Professor McGonagall, before she too swept away.

"Really, Harry. What were you thinking?" asked Hermione. "You know he just wanted a reaction from you."

"I was thinking that the son of the man who murdered Dobby shouldn't be talking about house elves," said Harry darkly.

"Yes, he's a little toerag," said Hermione. "Which means he's always going to know what to say, and when, to get you into trouble if you let him."

"What, so you're saying Malfoy won that round?" asked Ron. "He's the one with a bloody nose."

"His nose will be fine in five minutes," said Hermione. "Meanwhile, Gryffindor's down ten points, and Harry has a detention. Knowing Professor McGonagall, it's like as not to interfere with the bonfire Friday night. Why do you think he came without his little bodyguards?"

Harry considered that she was probably right, which just made him madder at Malfoy. His fowl mood lasted through much of the Defense class, which went well regardless. He had reigned his feelings in though by the end though, when he and his friends approached the professor after class.

"Sir," he said, "we were hoping you could give us some pointers on a spell."

"Well I can certainly try," said Professor Lupin. "What's the spell?"

"Protego," said Harry. "We're just not having any effect with it."

"I see. That is an advanced spell for third years. What are you practicing against?"

"Against?" asked Hermione.

"Magic is all about intent," said Professor Lupin. "When you're casting a shield charm, your intent isn't to summon a pretty light that happens to be able to block spells. It's to _protect_ yourself from something. Say, for the purpose of practice, a tickling charm, or some such."

"That's it?" asked Ron, sounding put out to have put in so much effort for nothing.

"That's it," said Professor Lupin.

"But why didn't they mention it in the text?" asked Hermione.

"If it's the school text, well," said Professor Lupin, "the author was a very clever witch, who never taught, and probably mastered the spells well enough to cast them regardless of the circumstances. It's not usually a problem when you have a lesson to go along with the chapter."

"Still," said Hermione. "I think we should write to the author, and let her know."

"Well, as long as you're at it, be sure to mention that there should be a place for Richard Lachstien's new spells in the next addition."

"Richard Lachstien?" asked Hermione.

"A spell inventor," said Professor Lupin, "who's done some excellent defensive work. Madam Pince should be able to point you to his book, if you're interested."

"Oh, I think I'll ask her then," said Hermione.

"So then," said Professor Lupin, "we may as well see your incantations then."

So the three of them pulled out their wands and cast the spell in turn. Professor Lupin nodded. "No problems with pronunciation or wand work. Now, I'll mention again that it is advanced for your age, so don't be upset if you still can't get a strong enough shield just yet. How about a quick practice."

He had them stand well back, and then cast the tickling charm at them in turn. They were all hit, but on Harry's turn, there was an effect when he tried to cast his spell.

"Oh, did you see that?" asked Hermione excitedly. "I think you almost had it."

"I think so too," said Professor Lupin, canceling the spell, and letting Harry catch his breath.

They thanked him, and huddled out for their next class, more excited for the prospect of mastering the spell than before.

"I knew there had to be something we were missing," said Hermione.

"But see," said Ron triumphantly, "I told you the Defense professor would attack Harry before the end of the year."

Harry laughed and bumped into Ron playfully as they walked towards History of Magic.

"Hopefully, a tickling charm's the worst I have to deal with this year."

!

Harry had wondered if anything could make Professor Snape happy, even rare and bounteous potions ingredients. He had hoped that the professor might treat him a little more favorably in light of his sudden boon.

"Mr. Potter, I would recommend you stick with the procurement of potions ingredients, rather than the making of potions, if this is the best you can manage on a simple vanishing potion."

"You're welcome," said Harry.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter!" sneered the Potions Professor.

So much for that, then.

!

"Mr. Mittal, please make yourself comfortable. May I offer some refreshments?"

"Given the nature of this Stanfield Arrangement," said Arnav Mittal, "I think it would be best if we simply went straight to business."

He was a contradiction of a man. Cultured, but with an air of having just stepped out of the field. Immaculately groomed, but still managing an untamed look. He was the foremost expert Gringotts could offer, perhaps the best in the world. And Albus hoped that he could provide a solution to his greatest problem.

"Very well," said Albus. "I will ask my question plainly then: is there any known way to destroy a horcrux without destroying the vessel?"

Mr. Mittal frowned. "I can think of no instance when it was even attempted," he said.

"I find that hard to believe," said Albus, disappointed with the quick answer.

"Historically speaking," said Mr. Mittal, "horcruxes have not been hidden with other treasures. Not if the owner wishes to keep it truly hidden. Thus, it is not generally treasure hunters who find them, but rather those who already are committed to destroying the dark wizard in question. With multiple known methods of destroying horcruxes, there's never been any particular need to find a way to pre sever the vessel."

"Can you think of nothing that might prove useful?" asked Albus.

"There are no theories yet to be proven, or current practices that could be applied to such a situation, I'm afraid," Said Mr. Mittal.

Albus sighed. "I was afraid you that that would be your answer."

Mr. Mittal leaned forward in his chair and looked at Albus very seriously. "Professor, I can think of no trinket valuable enough to not simply be destroyed for what it is."

"Alas, it is not so simple," said Albus.

"You asked me here for my advice, Professor, so I shall be blunt. If this is a horcrux of the Dark Lord Voldemort, then it should be destroyed immediately regardless of the vessel. I trust you know of at least one method to do so. Whether it is the wand of Merlin himself, the hourglass of Shah Isma'il III, or your tattered Sorting Hat, it does not matter."

"As I said," said Albus, "the situation is not so simple."

"Then enlighten me," said Mr. Mittal, clearly having little patience for Albus's obstinance.

"There are two further factors to consider," said Albus. "That the horcrux vessel in question is a human being, and that there is more than one horcrux yet to be found."

"Multiple horcruxes?" Mr. Mittal was uncharacteristically taken aback. He leaned back in his chair, taking a calming breath. "But…The living horcrux; Mr. Potter, I presume?"

"Indeed," said Albus. He had no worries about revealing this information. Mr. Mittal would not be remembering this conversation.

"And his curious scar…yes, the lightning bolt shape; not truly a lightning bolt, after all."

"You are familiar with that symbol then?" asked Albus.

Mr. Mittal nodded. "Though it is no surprise that no one else has pieced it together before. How is it though, that he has not been consumed by the soul fragment?"

"On the night in question, his mother willingly sacrificed her life for his. It has created a powerful protection, which I have been able to strengthen and prolong. It is how he survived in the first place."

"That could be crucial," said Mr. Mittal.

"My thoughts exactly," said Albus.

Mr. Mittal nodded in deep thought, but then scowled. "I understand your hesitation to destroy a living vessel, even one so remarkable, but should no solution be found after the other horcruxes are found, his life is no more valuable than that of any one other persons, let alone the fate of our world."

"And would you kill him then?" asked Albus.

"Nonsense," said Mr. Mittal, "he is not _my_ responsibility."

"Would you change your mind on the matter if I told you that by word of prophecy, he is the only one with the power to vanquish Voldemort?"

"I see you had three factors for me to consider then," said Mr. Mittal dryly.

"I like to keep my best arguments in reserve," said Albus.

The man sighed, clearly troubled. "Have you any of the other horcruxes to experiment on?"

"Not yet," said Albus. "One was recovered before, but destroyed."

"It is useless now," said Mr. Mittal.

"I am chasing down leads on the rest," said Professor Dumbledore. "One lead in particular may pay off soon."

"Let us hope you are right," said Mr. Mittal. "Should you find one, I would be willing to engage in an ongoing Stanfield Arrangement, with pensieved memories, in order to find a way to safely destroy the horcrux."

"I would find that agreeable," said Albus.

"With the caveat, that once the Dark Lord Voldemort is destroyed, I will be privy to whatever findings I have made."

Albus inclined his head.

"You realize that eventually, I will need to study the boy himself," said Mr. Mittal.

"In time, Mr. Mittal, once we know what we are doing," said Albus. "Shall we put our arrangement in writing?"

Mr. Mittal nodded, and pulled out his personal seal, as Albus procured a writing set. Mr. Mittal wrote down the nature of the arrangement and placed it in an envelope with his own name on it, before giving it his seal. He handed the envelope to Albus.

"Does that conclude our business then?" he asked.

"Indeed," said Albus. He pulled out a bag of gold and held it out to the man."Here is your fee." Mr. Mittal tucked it out of sight into his robes.

"For the moment," said Mr. Mittal, "I look forward to hearing of your future progress. Do make certain to prepare detailed notes on his mother's protection, and what you have done to augment it."

"Until then," said Albus. He drew out his wand and pointed it at the man across from him. "Obliviate!"

Mr. Mittal sat in his chair, blinking. He took a deep breath.

"Is our business concluded then?" he asked.

"It is," said Albus. "I thank you for your time."

Mr. Mittal looked at his pocket-watch. "It was not so very much of it," he said. "I hope you were satisfied with my service."

"I am satisfied that you answered my questions as completely as any can," said Albus.

Mr. Mittal nodded in understanding. "Then there is something yet for me to discover."

"You may yet get your chance," said Albus, indicating the signed envelope on his desk.

Mr. Mittal nodded. "Then I look forward to our next correspondence."

"Until then," said Albus, by way of farewell. He was disappointed, but not terribly surprised. Still, once they had a horcrux to study, he would have an ally in trying to safely destroy it.

!

Professor McGonagall sent notice the next morning regarding Harry's detention. Hermione had been right, and Harry would be missing most of the bonfire that night. He just hoped he'd get off in time to make some s'mores.

The professor gave him a dark look when he arrived at her office.

"Fisticuffs now, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

"He said something about Dobby," said Harry, ducking his head under her stern look.

"So you punched him?" she asked.

"Dobby died in my arms," said Harry. "You don't forget something like that just because you spend some time abroad. And Mr. Malfoy's the one that killed him."

"We all have our weaknesses, Harry," said Professor McGonagall. "We all have subjects that might induce a rage. But we cannot allow them to control us. There are many out there who may try to use your temper against you. What do you think will happen if you attack them all?"

Harry shrugged.

"And what do you think young Mr. Malfoy wanted to happen when he approached you today?"

"To get me to do something to get me in trouble," said Harry mulishly.

"And what happened?"

"I got in trouble."

"Quite. In this world we live in, a stiff upper lip is a valuable commodity. Now, come with me. We have a detention to set about."

She took him down to the entrance hall.

"Now, I heard you practicing the blasting hex earlier. Have you mastered it yet?"

"Yes, professor," said Harry.

"That should do nicely then," she said, and she pulled out from a pocket that was much too small for them, a map of the school, and what looked to Harry to be one of the poster boards that folded into three sections that they had used in primary school for presentations, only made of something not at all like cardboard.

"Professor Dumbledore feels that a survey of the castle's defenses is needed. You will be examining the suits of armor, which are all marked down here. Now this map should be accurate on most Friday's but do let me know if you find something out of place. You'll notice someone has already started. These statues have two notations. An 'A' means that the armor is spell resistant, a 'B' means that it is not. An 'X' means that the weapon is spell resistant, and a 'Y' means that it is not. There is a legend at the bottom in case you forget."

Professor McGonagall approached the nearest suit of armor. "Now as you can see on the map, Mr. Potter, this suit is labeled 'AY' which means that the suit is resistant. The weapon is not." She took the mace from the suit, which grumbled at her.

"Bombarda," she incanted at the suit. Instead of being blasted back though, the armor flashed blue, and remained where it was. "As for this mace," she said, "pick that up, and set it so it stands on it's own," she directed Harry towards the thing that was not quite a poster board.

Harry picked it up. It was heavy, and he couldn't tell what it was made out of, but he opened it up and set it down. Professor McGonagall walked over to it with the mace, and set the weapon in front of it, such that the mace floated upright within its confines.

"If you will Mr. Potter, come stand here, and cast the bludgeoning hex at the mace."

Harry walked over and pointed his wand at the weapon.

"Bombarda," he incanted. The mace blew backward, but was caught by Professor McGonagall's device. Within moments, it was floating where it had been before. Professor McGonagall walked forward and plucked up the mace, returning it to the suit of armor.

"Is Gryffindor's sword spell resistant?" asked Harry.

"The sword of Godric Gryffindor is among the finest of goblin crafted blades," said Professor McGonagall. "It is very nearly spell _proof_, never tarnished, ever razor sharp, and it is imbued with the strength of that which tries to harm it," said Professor McGonagall. "But that is neither here or there."

"Now, you are to stay at it until at least 8:30, or until you have evaluated at least seventy suits of armor, which-ever takes longer," she said. "If you are diligent, I suspect you'll be able to catch the tail end of the bonfire with your friends. Of course, you have permission to cast the Bludgeoning hex in the hallways, but you may not use any other magic to complete the task. Do you have any questions?"

"No professor," said Harry dejectedly.

"Then set about it. You know where to find me if you have any issues."

With that, she swept off, leaving Harry to his own devices. The task was actually interesting at first, or at least novel. But he was tired of it long before he reached twenty. The device he used to test the weapons was heavy to carry around, and Harry wasn't allowed to levitate it about. Furthermore, the suits of armor very often did not want to be hexed about, some trying to run away, and the ones that were not spell resistant often had to be put back together after Harry blasted them. There was one time Harry had to chase after a pair of legs that ran off after Harry had blown the thing apart.

Still, by 8:20, Harry had finished the seventieth suit of armor, and at the half-hour, he was able to return the equipment to Professor McGonagall. To his dismay though, they were all out of marshmallows by the time he arrived at the bonfire. He contented himself with graham crackers and chocolate in the short while before the event was over.

"We really need to thank whoever brought s'mores to Hogwarts from the States," said Dean as they all walked back to the castle later.

"Is that where they're from?" asked Hermione. "I'd looked for them in Hogwarts a History, and 1001 Magical Confections, but couldn't find them."

"Yeah," said Dean. "Muggles invented them, actually. I'd thought you could only get graham crackers across the pond though, until I got here."

"I thought they were a wizarding thing," said Harry, who'd found s'mores to be very magical indeed in his first year.

"Just don't tell the Slytherins any different," said Seamus.

"Considering how much Malfoy was enjoying his," said Ron, "I think I will tell the Slytherins just where s'mores come from."

Harry laughed. "Well make sure I can see his face when you do."

!

After they'd all mastered half-way decent shield charm, Hermione introduced 'attacks' into their morning routines. They'd take turns at being an attacker each day, and at random points, the attacker would announce 'attack!' and fire a minor jinx at one of the others. The person being fired at then had to either dodge for decent cover, or produce a shield. This did once lead to Hagrid rushing over to see what they were fighting for. There was another instance where Hermione twisted her ankle trying to do both at the same time. But the exercise seemed effective, and they were getting better at defending themselves from sudden attacks. Harry had taken to running around the whole morning with the Ostenderme Resistentium spell active, which highlighted, to Harry's eyes only, areas that would be particularly resistant to spell fire, allowing him to see where the best cover was at any given time.

Their studies were going well also. Harry came to value their post-elective study sessions, finding that he did get a better grasp of the subject matter when he explained it to the other two. Meanwhile, he and Ron were just barely keeping up with Hermione's Runes lectures. Divination was not much of an issue, particularly because they weren't taking it all that seriously.

Harry and Ron did tend to go a little stir crazy at times, keeping to such a rigid schedule, especially as it meant spending some of the afternoon inside. Hermione was very patient with them though, and tweaked the schedules some to lighten that strain. Regardless, they were diligent; far more so than Harry or Ron had thought they could be. But working together with such a big and solid goal ahead of them, they found they had enough resolve to spare.

October came, and though they had solved the problem of having enough time to shower in the morning by using the quidditch locker rooms, as Hermione had predicted it was starting to get too cold to exercise outside in the morning. Hermione was talking about exercising in the afternoon and studying in the early morning, though neither Ron nor Harry were keen on the idea. They were still looking for a solution when Halloween rolled around.

Though Harry was in a much better place, emotionally, he still decided to skip out on the feast once dessert arrived.

"Are you okay?" asked Hermione, anxiously.

"Yeah," said Harry, "it's just, Halloween, you know?"

"Do you want to company?" she asked. Ron looked forlornly at the sea of deserts.

"Nah," said Harry, "you guys stay here."

"See you later then," said Ron, clearly relieved.

Harry left, glad that there was no longer a basilisk at the school to make Halloween awful again. He made his way up to Gryffindor tower, and took one of the choice seats in the empty common room. He pulled out his diary and glanced through the section on Horcruxes, before pulling up a fresh page.

Dear Journal,

I still feel like I'm not really supposed to enjoy Halloween. Does Neville mourn whatever happened to his parents on the anniversary of it?

I just want this to be over so much. Hermione has to stop me from pushing myself too hard most mornings, since I'm liable to overdo it. I want to be ready to face him now! But who knows how long it'll take.

There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. I wonder if Professor McGonagall will take me down there sometime soon to make up for me not being able to go. I don't think she's still cross about me punching Malfoy last month. He's still being a prat. I wish Madam Pomfrey had fixed his nose crooked. I haven't punched him again though.

In other news, Professor Dumbledore gave me a range on where he thinks Tom could have gotten when he visited the castle. I'm thinking of asking the-

There was a sudden commotion from outside. Shouting and banging. With a flick of his wrist, Harry's wand was in his hand. He crept towards the portrait hole and listened.

"I've told you! You can't get in without the password! You should know that better than anyone, Black!"

There was a snarling cry of rage, and then the Fat Lady started screaming.

"YOU LET ME AT THAT RAT!" called a man's voice.

Harry's eyes widened. Impossibly, the mad Death Eater had infiltrated the castle. How did he know Harry was up here? Harry bent down to his school boots, and retrieved a pocketknife. He had told no one about it; though to a casual glance it would seem like something from a small potions kit. But the blade of it was coated in a potentially lethal toxin that Harry had picked up in the Amazon. He had acquired the substance when he had bartered for the confiscated blowgun, and managed to hold onto it because Madam Longbottom had never known about it. He had wanted it, and kept it, because, well, when you have to kill the darkest wizard to ever live, you kind of wanted to have any advantage you could find.

Harry didn't necessarily plan on killing Black. He was relatively certain that Madam Pomfrey would be able to keep him alive. But the toxin should be more than capable of subduing the man far better than anything Harry could yet do with his wand though. Harry gripped it tight, ready to rush out. He pushed on the portrait.

It didn't budge. There was still the sound of an altercation coming from outside. The sound of ripping fabric, the screams of the Fat Lady, and the curses of Sirius Black. But neither Black could enter, nor Harry leave.

"Damn it," Harry cursed. Here was an opportunity to prove himself against a fully grown dark wizard, in a fair fight, and they couldn't get at each other. Worse, by the sounds of it, Black was destroying Gryffindor tower's hallowed portrait.

He felt impotent. He couldn't fight Black, and he had no means of calling for help, or alerting anyone to Black's presence. If the common room overlooked the Great Hall, he could have shot out sparks, but it didn't. He had been considering transfiguring a rope and harness to rappel out, before he remembered his broom. But as he was about to leave for it, the commotion outside stopped. Harry pressed his ear to the entrance. He could hear nothing.

Harry tried to push the portrait open again, but it remained stuck. There must have been some manner of lockdown procedure that the Fat Lady had enacted when Black had tried to enter. In the meantime, Harry was stuck; probably until the feast ended.

The professors were very relieved when they finally opened the portrait, and found that Harry was fine. Of course there was a great hullabaloo over the entire incident. Harry and everyone else wound up sleeping on the floor of the Great Hall in sleeping bags as the castle was searched. Harry wasn't certain why, as it seemed clear that Black couldn't get past the portrait hole.

Harry wound up making the grave mistake of mentioning that he had been unable to get out to face Black, and was soundly lectured by both of his friends for what they felt to be idiocy. From the looks he was getting from students in hearing range of them, Harry was the only person who thought trying to stop Black was a good idea.

Sleeping bag slung over his shoulder, Harry slunk off to be on his own, determined to finish his journal entry, but when he opened the journal up, he remembered the thought he'd had before Black had shown up. Closing his journal again and tucking it away, he dragged his sleeping bag over to where the twins were.

"Hey, guys," he said.

"Harrikins," greeted George amiably. "Have a tiff with your friends."

They may have caused a bit of a scene, but considering the twins didn't seem cross with him too, he supposed word of what it had been about hadn't reached them.

"Just a little one," said Harry. "Actually, I wanted to ask you guys a question about something."

"Shoot," said Fred.

"It's kind of top secret," said Harry, pulling out the map that the professor had given him, showing the area that they had to search. "But I figure if anyone can find a secret hiding place in the castle that the professor's can't, it'll be you guys."

"Is that Professor Dumbledore's handwriting?" asked Fred, sounding very interested.

"Must actually be top secret," George mused, having taken Harry's initial statement as hyperbole.

"Yeah, so don't let on to anyone about it," said Harry.

"We are masters of discretion," commented Fred.

"Our lips are sealed," said George.

"You've told me about fifty embarrassing stories about when Ron was a kid," Harry commented.

"Well we never tried to keep those secrets," George said.

"Fair enough," said Harry. "Now, if you wanted to hide something in the marked area, without anyone ever finding it, where would you hide it?"

"I don't know that I'd hide anything that important in the castle long term," said George. "If you mean, not _ever_ find it."

"We've found loads of places that were supposed to be secret, but students had clearly found them over the years," said Fred.

"Well best guess then," said Harry.

"Best guess," mused Fred. "There's a secret tunnel here," he pointed, and Harry marked it down with a 'T' for tunnel. "A passageway here. I'm pretty sure the professors know about both of them."

"There's an alcove here," said George. "I think only a couple of seventh years know about it, other than us. One guess what they use it for."

"Hey," said Fred, "there's that quirky broom cupboard here," said Fred, pointing to a seventh floor corridor."

"Eh," said George.

"You dismiss it," said Fred, "but we still haven't been able to find it again."

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"A broom cupboard we hid in from Filch once," said George.

"We're sure it's right there," said Fred, "but it's never been there again. It's not there on alternating Tuesdays, or under the light of a blue moon. Whatever it's secret, it's not giving them up."

"We still found it by accident," said George. "That's hardly secure."

"Anything else?" asked Harry.

"Nah," said Fred. "That's a pretty lonely area of the castle."

"Thanks," said Harry.

"You going to kip over here?" asked George.

"I better," said Harry, "Hermione'll just bug me until lights out."

"You do something stupid again?" asked Fred.

"Eh, I guess," said Harry. "Probably."

"Your kind of stupid, or our kind of stupid?" asked George.

"Probably somewhere in between," said Harry, who could remember Fred and George looking covetously at the reward posters for Black.

"Stick with us, Harry," said Fred. "We'll keep you in the right kind of trouble."

Harry laughed.

!

Dear Diary,

Just when everyone was getting calmed down again, Hagrid decided to teach a class about Griffins. I'm pretty sure about half of us had heart attacks. I feel like there should be Griffin handlers, like Charlie's a dragon handler. It was just Hagrid, and the guy who transported them here. The guy didn't seem to know anything about them so really it was just Hagrid keeping them in check.

This time, Hagrid wasn't offering out rides. They looked like they would have evisserated anyone who tried to get on their backs. Kind of a proud moment for us Gryffindors though. The Slytherins sure weren't happy. Malfoy stayed well in the back. I think the lesson went pretty well actually.

Hermione's been pressing us on the runes. She wants us to be ready to take the Draught of Many Tongues at the same time she does. She also tries to squeeze me dry for what I've learned about Arithmancy. I'm doing pretty well in the class, so she seems happy.

!

The weather was fowl for the Gryffindor-Slytherin match, though the Gryffindor team had certainly trained for it. Oliver refused to cancel practice for anything that wouldn't cancel a match. If his players caught a cold playing out in the freezing rain, well that was what a Pepper-Up potion was for.

Harry was looking forward to going up against Malfoy and his team. Last year, they had barely scraped a victory against the other team's superior brooms. But Oliver, Angelina, and Katie all had new brooms, if not quite equals to the 2001's ridden by all of the Slytherin team. They were also the better team, their opponents largely just the biggest bullies who could fly that could be found in the den of snakes. They'd have to work hard, but Harry was looking forward to proving that talent and hard work were superior to money and brawn any day of the week.

Malfoy managed to sneer at Harry from the opposite side of the rain heavy pitch. They were both standing in their respective teams' entryways to the pitch, waiting to fly out for the line-up announcements from Lee Jordan before Madam Hooch would start the game. Harry just grinned back.

"Mount up, Harry," said Oliver. "They're about to start."

Harry nodded and mounted, as Lee's voice rang out through the field. Soon, Oliver flew out, followed by the girls, the twins, and finally, Harry, their names being proclaimed to the entire school.

Lee's voice echoed. "THIS IS GRYFFINDOR'S SAME LINE-UP AS THE LAST TWO YEARS, WHEN THEY MADE GOOD RUNS FOR THE CUP. WE'LL SEE IF THIS YEAR IS THEIR YEAR TO SHINE! NOW CHALLENGING THEM, IS SLYTHERIN TEAM!"

Lee called the Slytherins all out onto the field, and the two teams all lined up opposite each other. Madam Hooch gave the usual rigamarole about wanting a fair game, listing out some of the specific behaviors that she was going to be watching for. Harry was pretty sure that she was watching the Slytherins more than anyone else. Finally, the two captains shook hands, Madam Hooch released the balls, and they were off.

It was hard to see through the rain, even with Harry's healed vision. He searched desperately for the snitch, not wanting to stay out in the weather.

For the first half-hour, there was a complete shutout on goals on both sides. Oliver intercepted every single shot that approached him, while the Slytherin brooms could almost always beat the Gryffindor chasers to the Slytherin goals. It was the twins who shook things up, helping Gryffindor to gain control of the field, through sheer precision and coordination, they'd blast through the Slytherin defense, opening up their goals for scoring.

Harry was shivering by this point, but took heart in the first goal being scored for Gryffindor. This was athletic conditioning, he told himself. He'd see how long he could stay on his broom in the freezing rain. Malfoy though, was clearly miserable, and so sought to make Harry miserable as well.

"Hey Potter! I'm surprised they let you stay in the house of the stupid, as cowardly as you are. Let alone let you on the pitch."

Rather than reply, and not wanting to have to put up with Malfoy until he spotted the snitch, Harry widened his eyes suddenly and shot down towards the ground. He'd have to be fast, he knew, if he wanted this to go right. Faster than Malfoy on his 2001. He put everything into his dive.

"AND POTTER'S SPOTTED THE SNITCH! MALFOY RIGHT ON HIS TAIL. AND- YES, MALFOY'S TRYING TO GRAB ONTO POTTER'S BROOM, BUT POTTER'S NOT GIVING HIM AN INCH!"

Harry saw the ground approaching rapidly. He felt the old thrill; his blood racing through his veins, his every sense honed. He pulled up at the last conceivable second.

"MALFOY'S PLOWED HIMSELF! POTTER'S PULLED OFF A PERFECT WRONSKI FEINT! OH, MALFOY IS NOT LOOKING SO GOOD RIGHT NOW. HE'S OUT OF THE GAME, AND IT LOOKS LIKE HIS BROOM HAS TAKEN AT LEAST SOME DAMAGE. SERVES THE DIRTY CHEAT RIGHT FOR THE ATTEMPTED BLAGGING OF POTTER'S BROOM… WHAT? WELL I'M JUST SAYING PROFESSOR, IT WAS A CLEAR ATTEMPT AT A FOWL. ANYWAY, IT'S LOOKING LIKE CURTAINS FOR THE SLYTHERIN TEAM."

Harry soared off into the air, feeling more than a little smug. Whatever the boy's injury, he probably deserved it a few times over. Moreover, no one could tell him off for it. It was quidditch, after all.

A time out was called, and Harry flew down to meet with the rest of his team. Oliver had a massive grin on his face.

"A Wronski Feint?" he asked Harry. "You know how to toe the line. Come here." And he hugged Harry right where they stood.

"Mind," said Fred, "I thought you were both going to plough."

"Well shows what you know," said Harry cheekily, prompting George to put him in a head-lock while Fred rubbed his knuckles in Harry's hair.

"Oh leave the poor boy alone," said Angelina. "He's only just handed us the game."

Harry stuck his tongue out at the twins as soon as he was released.

"That being said," said Oliver, "could you please hurry up and find the damn snitch? It is freezing out here!"

"Aye aye, captain!" exclaimed Harry, his spirits still on the high of the dive. "What's happening with Malfoy, anyway?"

"Looks like they're taking him up to the hospital wing," said Oliver. "Hopefully, he'll be kept overnight."

"Hopefully the game doesn't last that long," said Alecia.

"They're bringing in someone to cover for Malfoy," said George.

They all looked over as a boy no one recognized came onto the field and got onto Malfoy's broom.

"Well it's still flying," said Harry.

"Not as well as a Nimbus should," said Oliver. "Good job, Harry."

"AND BOXER COMES ONTO THE FIELD TO TAKE MALFOY'S PLACE," announced Lee. "LET'S SEE HOW THE A SLYTHERIN DOES WHEN HE DOESN'T PAY HIS WAY ONTO THE TEAM…OF COURSE, PROFESSOR, HIS FATHER JUST HAPPENED TO BUY THE TEAM BROOMS JUST BEFORE MALFOY WAS TAKEN ON. IT WAS PURE TALENT ON MALFOY'S PART. BACK TO THE GAME, OUR PLAYERS ARE TAKING UP THEIR POSITIONS!"

Harry had just started climbing back into the air when he felt the cold that surrounded him suddenly seep inward, along with a tremendous sense of dread. He took in a shaky gasp, and looking around, he saw the pitch below filling with dementors. His first instinct was to climb higher in the air, but as he looked upward, the world around him went black. He fell off his broom, but his mind was already somewhere else.

A woman was screaming…

!

It was like swimming molasses, trying to come back to consciousness. He wasn't even sure he wanted to wake up. Who even was he? Whoever he was, the world surely was too horrible to face. His eyes blinked open against his will.

"Finally, mate," came a voice, Ron's voice, from a far away place that didn't seem like it could be real. Surely everyone was dead.

"You're awake!" said Hermione. "Here, have some chocolate."

A lump of chocolate was nearly shoved into his mouth, but Harry couldn't complain. It put the world into focus. He fell back onto his pillow, gasping around the mouthful of chocolate in relief.

"What happened," he finally asked, as Ron was filling up a mug of hot chocolate, and Madam Pomfrey was bustling over to check on him.

"Dementors!" cried the resident nurse. "Bad enough they're stationed around the grounds. I've had first years brought to me in crying fits after they got too close. Now they've stormed in! I'll likely be seeing more than a few of you by nights end."

"They came to the pitch?" asked Harry, after he drank down the chocolate.

"A whole swarm of them," said Hermione. "It was just awful. And you fell off your broom. Fortunately, you weren't very high up yet."

"I fixed up some broken ribs," said Madam Pomfrey. "You rest up, now, and eat plenty of chocolate."

She walked off, still decrying the use of Dementors around the school, if only to herself.

"Professor Dumbledore chased them all away," said Ron, continuing the story. "I've never seen him so mad. Then you were sent up to the hospital wing."

"What about the match?" asked Harry. Surely they'd lost, he thought, still caught in the ill feeling lingering from his contact with the dementors.

"Well, the good news is they found someone to take your place," said Hermione.

"You mean it's still going on?!" asked Harry, sure now that they were _going_ to lose.

"Relax, Harry. I'm sure they'll do alright," said Hermione.

"Angelina didn't seem to think much of the guy," said Ron.

"Who is it?" asked Harry.

"Some fifth year," said Ron.

"Wait, and where's Malfoy?"

"I'm right here, Potter!" came Malfoy's angry voice from behind a curtain a few beds over. "Serves you right, winding up in here after you wrecked my broom."

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Ron lazily. Hermione rolled her eyes and cast a silencing charm on Malfoy's curtains.

Harry laid his head back down and groaned. "I am terrible," he said. "I hurt Malfoy on purpose. And now the team's going to loose because of me, and they're going to kick me off."

"What?" asked Ron. "Don't be stupid, Harry. Malfoy had it coming, and no one can help how the dementors effect them."

"This is just the dementors talking, Harry," said Hermione. "Eat some more chocolate."

"No," said Harry miserably. "I should feel bad. I'm an abomination! And people are dead because of me. I should just curl up and die!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved more chocolate into his mouth. As Harry started coughing on it, she and Ron pulled him back up into a sitting position, and Ron pressed another cup of hot chocolate to his lips.

"That should help get it down," said Ron.

Harry, who was starting to feel better again, took a quick swallow, trying to clear his airways.

"A little warning next time!" he complained.

"How are you feeling?" asked Hermione.

"Still terrible," said Harry. "But I'll live."

"Well eat more chocolate, mate," said Ron. "There isn't exactly a shortage." Indeed, the side table was covered in bars of chocolate, and there was a steaming carafe as well.

"Where's my broom?" asked Harry.

"That fifth year's on it," said Ron. "The team figured you'd want it put to good use while you're out of commission."

"What if he breaks it?" asked Harry. Hermione put another piece of chocolate in front of him.

The team came by three hours later, ecstatic with a recent victory. With two inexperienced seekers out in the rain, it had been a very long game indeed. Apparently, they'd already had a good lead over Slytherin, when Harry's replacement, a boy by the name of Miller, had managed to catch the snitch. By George's description, more by accident than by anything else. Harry was reminded of his first match, when he had caught the snitch in his mouth.

"Get out as soon as you can," said Oliver, "there's a going to be a big party back at the tower for our first win of the season."

Madam Pomfrey kept him for another hour though, and by the time he got out, he was thoroughly tired of chocolate. He, Ron, and Hermione walked up to the tower together. Harry was in a much better mood by that point, though still a little dejected about missing most of the game, and for having fainted in front of the entire school. Why was he the only one who was so affected by the dementors?

They could hear the party already by the time they reached the portrait hole, and Harry gave the day's password to the mad knight Sir Cadogan, who had replaced the Fat Lady for the time being.

"The man of the hour!" Fred cried when Harry walked in. "Creevey! Creevey, come here. Show Harry the picture you took."

Harry was ready for a picture of himself plummeting to the ground, surrounded by dementors, but was pleasantly surprised when Colin showed him a picture of his feint, and Malfoy's subsequent crash.

"I could watch this all day," said Ron, who was clearly delighted.

"We're going to see if we can get copies of it," said George.

"And blow them up, all over the school," added Fred.

"It's a great picture," said Harry, "any chance I could get a copy too?"

"Keep it," said Colin, clearly ecstatic with the praise, "I can make as many copies as anyone wants." He gave Harry a nervous glance. "You um, you want a picture of your fall?"

"Why would I want that?" asked Harry, bewildered. "Why would you want it? Never mind. You keep it; just don't go showing it around. Please, Colin."

The party helped to put Harry back into a good mood, especially as he saw that people cared a lot more about his feint than they cared about his fainting. Oliver kept talking about how this would be the year Gryffindor got the cup, and Harry couldn't help but get excited for it too. It was certainly one more thing to accomplish before he died.

!

A week after that first quidditch match, the castle had settled from the previous excitement. Malfoy seemed somewhat cowed, but still took the time to taunt Harry about his fainting spell. Harry could see sour grapes for what it was though, and found the boy easier to ignore. The twins had indeed made good on their promise to put up posters of Harry's feint, to most of the school's amusement. Late Thursday afternoon, Professor Lupin approached Harry after class.

"A word, if you will, Mr. Potter," he said, with an affable smile to show that Harry wasn't in any sort of trouble.

"Sure, Professor," Harry replied.

Ron gave Harry a look as he left the classroom, which Harry was pretty sure meant, "Beware the Defense Professor!" Harry shrugged in reply.

"I was just wondering," said Professor Lupin, once there was only the two of them left in the classroom, "if perhaps you had recognized me from any of the pictures from the photo album that Professor Hagrid had given you."

Harry blinked in surprise.

"You're in them?" he asked.

"Indeed," said Professor Lupin. "Actually, a number of them came from me."

"So, you were friends with my parents then?" asked Harry.

"I was," said Professor Lupin. "I knew your father best, of course, as we were dorm mates, and very close besides. You might recognize me best in the picture from the hospital where you were born; where your father's showing you off to a small group of people. It was the most recent one I could find."

"Oh yeah," said Harry misleadingly. "I think I can see it now."

Professor Lupin smiled. But in truth, Harry had never looked past that first picture in the album. He had felt unworthy, in the beginning, guilty for being the one keeping Voldemort alive, when his parents had died to keep Harry safe from the man. But now, Harry supposed he had no excuse not to look at, and cherish, those pictures. He wasn't the only thing keeping Voldemort alive, after all. And he was going to be the one to kill him.

"Anyway, Harry," said Professor Lupin, "I just wanted you to know that you can come to me for help, if you need to. I'd be honored to help the son of an old friend."

"Thanks Professor," said Harry, meaning it.

"Also," said Professor Lupin, "Professor Dumbledore requested that I pass on to you his request that you see him after classes today."

"Oh," said Harry. "Okay, I'll go see him."

"Excellent," said Professor Lupin. "Now, you should be on your way to History of Magic. You wouldn't want to be late."

"Okay, Professor," said Harry, turning to leave before he came up short. "Hold on. Um, there's a way to protect against dementors, right? Those silver animal things?"

"That's right," said Professor Lupin. "They're called 'Patroni', or a 'Patronus' in the singular."

"Could you teach me how to make one?" asked Harry. "And my friends too, of course."

Professor Lupin mused. "It's highly advanced magic, Harry. Much more so than the shield charm."

"Please," said Harry, not used to making such a request of an adult, but also determined. "You've seen what they do to me. What if I come across another one?"

Professor Lupin nodded with a frown. "Well, we can try, at least."

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry, somewhat relieved to have a plan to take care of his problem with dementors.

"I'll need to make a few arrangements," said Professor Lupin. "It might be a little while before I could start lessons."

"That's alright, sir," said Harry, "as long as I learn it."

"Now don't get your hopes up," said Professor Lupin. "As I said, it is very advanced magic."

"I won't," said Harry, not at all truthfully. "Thanks, Professor!"

He wasn't all that surprised to find that Ron and Hermione had waited up for him, and he wound up summarizing the conversation for them on the way to History of Magic. Hermione was very excited for the prospect of learning an advanced spell, and was already talking about ways to rework their schedules.

Harry made his way up to Professor Dumbledore's office on his own later, thinking guiltily again about how he had never gone through the photo album that Hagrid had given him. He had held on to it. Protected it reverently. But never had he looked past that first page.

Harry gave the current sweet-based password, 'Garlic Ice Cream', (he was certain that this could not be a real thing), and made his way up to the Professor's office door.

"Ah, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore as he entered. "I think I may have a lead on that potential hiding place, based off of what you found out from the Weasley twins."

"You did, sir?" asked Harry. "They thought you already knew about most of them."

"It's this broom cupboard that they told you about," said Professor Dumbledore. "I scoured my memory, and I too remember something appearing there once, never to return."

"Something?" asked Harry. "Not a broom cupboard, then?"

"No," mused professor Dumbledore. "As it turned out, I rather had to relieve myself one night, and was nowhere near any of the castle's restrooms. Imagine my surprise then, that I found a room that I was unfamiliar with that was filled with chamber pots."

"Chamber pots?" asked Harry.

"Quite," said Professor Dumbledore.

"Filled with them?" asked Harry.

"I had my pick of the lot," said Professor Dumbledore. "Though in my haste, I took the nearest one."

"...Right," said Harry.

"I have, of course, examined the other locations in the area, including a few that even the twins, masterful in their knowledge of the castle, know nothing about, to no avail. So now, this mysterious room is our only lead."

"So, a broom cupboard, or a room of chamber pots," said Harry.

"I dare say there is a mystery yet to be solved regarding the room," said Professor Dumbledore. "Shall we go examine the corridor in question?"

"Sure,"said Harry.

"I am not keeping you from your strict schedule, I hope."

"Nah," said Harry, "we can work around it. I'll be fine as long as I get my homework in, if there's a good reason for it."

"Excellent, then let us depart. And remember, Harry. Should we find the room in question, you are to follow the same instructions as I gave you when we searched the Chamber of Secrets."

"I understand," said Harry.

And so, Professor Dumbledore led Harry to what would turn out to be a very stubborn stretch of wall, on the seventh floor corridor, opposite the painting of Barnabas the Barmy.

!

Harry went to bed early that night, dejected about not getting through to the secret room, but determined to finally got through his picture album. He drew his bed curtains closed tight. With him, he had the photo album that had been running through his thoughts all evening; he made himself comfortable and opened it. There on the first page was the wedding photo that Harry knew well. Taking a deep breath, Harry turned the page. There were pictures of a number of boys, and visible in each photo was the boy who had become his father. Harry stared in fascination. They looked so alike.

Harry touched his fingers to one of them. His father was laughing, and had a mischievous air about him. He warded off Harry's fingers by waving his arms about, with a goodnatured grin on his face. Everyone was smiling in the pictures, looking so happy. None of them knew what was going to happen to the laughing boy, once he grew up.

Harry turned the pages reverently, soaking in the images. He was glad he had closed his curtains, for he didn't want anyone to see the way his eyes watered, or his nose ran. He stayed up past his bedtime for a change, committing every image, every slice of his parents' lives to memory.


	18. 17 Lost and Found

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Wish I did.

Lost and Found

Harry glared at the wall. The wall did nothing in return. It had done nothing since Harry and Professor Dumbledore had arrived the day before to try to unlock its secrets. Professor Dumbledore could tell that _something_ was there, but neither he nor Harry could figure out how to get at it. Harry had been wracking his brain ever since, but to no avail.

He left. He was scheduled for a rare bit of free time, and had thought to try to crack the mystery, but he was getting nowhere fast. He decided he wasn't going to solve this by staring at a blank stretch of wall every chance he got.

Returning to the common room, Harry was quickly roped into a game of chess with Ron, who, though he was succeeding in the chess-by-owl league, wanted a faster game to pass the time.

"You ever think about what you want to do when it's all over?" asked Ron, as his knight slaughtered Harry's queen.

Harry thought quickly. The answer was a flat 'no' but that hardly seemed adequate.

"Haven't thought much about it," he settled on saying. He had always been an in-the-moment sort of guy, trying to survive the Dursleys. He had just always planned to leave as soon as he possibly could. But what he wanted to do? Right now, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to live long enough to find out.

"How 'bout quidditch?" asked Ron.

"That would be fun," said Harry half-heartedly.

"So do you think you might do it?" asked Ron.

"I don't know," said Harry, feeling a little pressured.

"There's a few things I think I'd like to do," said Hermione from nearby. She had perked up when she overheard the conversation. "I've heard a lot of good things about the Department of Mysteries. Though I'd also like to try my hand at just…overhauling the legal system. I mean. The more I learn about it, the more I want to scream. And, oh, I really think, one day, I'd like to write books. I'm still not sure what sort, other than, well, everything. What about you, Harry?"

Why did everyone want to know what he wanted to do when he grew up? He hadn't ever thought much beyond miraculously surviving.

"I don't know," said Harry again. "If I get into Auror training before this is all over, I guess I'll keep on with that."

"But is that what you _want_ to do? What about if there wasn't any 'this' to take care of first?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know!" said Harry, frustrated. "Can't we just, like, focus on you-know-what, and then worry about it?"

"That doesn't seem very healthy," said Hermione.

"Oh, big surprise you don't think my attitude's healthy," said Harry. "I'm doing the meditation. I'm playing my instrument. I'm writing in my journal. Do you have to be my therapist too?"

"I'm just trying to be a good friend," said Hermione.

"Then stop trying to psychoanalyze everything I do and say!"

"Do I have to tell you two to stop bickering?" asked Ron.

Harry glared at him, for Ron was certainly one to talk.

"What?" asked Ron. "You're both right. Let's talk about me playing for the Cannons now."

Harry sighed and looked at the board. "If the Cannons are the best team you can play for, you've been talking up your skills too much. And I'm pretty sure you have me in checkmate."

"OY! Just wait and see. It's their year, this year. And it's checkmate in five moves. Move your rook."

Five turns later, the game was over.

"I'm going to go ask the twins about that broom cupboard again," said Harry as his king was demolished.

"I thought they already told you everything they knew about it," said Hermione.

Harry shrugged. "It's worth a shot."

He walked over to the twins, who were being studious for a change.

"Hey, can I bother you guys for a bit?" asked Harry.

"Anything other than Transfiguration theory," groused George.

"It's about what we talked about Halloween night," said Harry.

"Which part?" asked Fred.

"The broom cupboard. Everywhere else was bust, but we can't get it to appear."

"We're not even sure it's real," said George.

"Maybe we were all mixed up," said Fred.

"Happens to the best of us," said George.

Harry shook his head. "We're sure it's there, whether it has what we want or not."

"Well how can _we_ help?" asked Fred.

"If the great Albus Dumbledore can't figure it out," said George.

"Tell me how you found it the first time. In detail," said Harry.

The twins shrugged in unison.

"We were hexing all of the cushions in the Divination classroom," said Fred.

"When Filch almost found us," said George.

"We made a run for it," said Fred, "but Mrs. Norris kept getting in our way."

"We were just about going in circles, desperate for a place to hide," said George.

"And there it was, a godsend," said Fred.

"The cleanest broom cupboard we'd ever been in, too," said George. "Like it was prepared just for us."

"Pretty comfortable too," said Fred. "We wound up hiding in there for a while."

"Eventually, we left," said George. "And we never found it again."

"Got it," said Harry. "So. You really…really needed it."

"Yeah," said George.

And professor Dumbledore really needed to pee. Harry was beginning to see a pattern.

"Thanks guys," said Harry. "I might be onto something."

Harry checked his watch as he walked away, and smiled as he saw that it was soul food time, as Ron had taken to calling Harry's fiddle/journal/meditation suite. Though he complained now and then, he'd found that it was an agreeable way to end the day. He even had a few fans of his playing, as it was one of the few sources of music in the castle. As he understood it, Justin's violin was just as popular in Hufflepuff.

Before going to bed that night, Harry took out his photo album, as he had the night before. He made sure his curtains were sealed and silenced before opening it. For the time being, it was just too private an experience for him.

He loved the pictures with himself as a baby. Everyone looked so happy in them. Him, his parents, their friends. It was so clear how much his parents had adored him, and that meant a lot to Harry, for it was one thing to hear it from others, and another to see it with his own eyes.

Harry did wonder what his parents would think of him now. Would they be proud of how he was preparing to face Voldemort, or would they want to keep him from even trying? On the other hand, could they love a Horcrux, or the broken boy cast off by the Dursleys? Everything he had heard about them suggested that they would, but Harry was determined to give them something to be proud of.

It was the pictures of his parents as teens that really drew his eye. It seemed so surreal, seeing them his own age and even younger. They looked carefree and normal. There were three boys who were always around his father, and Harry had managed to identify Professor Lupin among them. The other two were a mystery, though one did look strangely familiar, and Harry wondered if they had survived the war, or if they would turn up out of the woodwork like Professor Lupin had.

!

Dear Journal,

They talked me into practicing down in the common room again. Not sure why anyone wants me to when I'm practicing songs I don't know that well in the first place. Well, no one was complaining.

I'm still not sure why I was so cross about them asking me about what I want to be if I grow up. I should have just made something up, and let that be the end of it. What's the good of planning a life that probably won't happen though? I know Professor Dumbledore's trying everything he can, but until he figures anything out, I'm kind of stuck, aren't I? It's like limbo. I'm not really sure what I need to prepare for, so I've just prepared for the worst. I don't want to think about what I want to be when I grow up. What if I decide I want to live too much to do what I have to do? What if I don't want to be disappointed when the time comes to end everything?

In other news, Malfoy's still upset about his broom, and getting ploughed. He doesn't seem to have cottoned on that everyone just thinks he's whining. Still, he's already getting back to his usual awful self. He's been going on about how I fainted on the field. This is particularly irksome, because **I'm **still beating myself up about it. I'm not the only person in the castle with bad memories, but I'm the only one that passes out.

I think I'm going to ask Professor Dumbledore to charm another journal for me. I don't like sharing my notes about the horcruxes when all my thoughts are in the same book. Even if it is just with the Professor and my friends. If I have another journal, I can keep everything about Horcruxes though, I think I've got a clue about how to open that room. I'm just sure that there's going to be at least one more piece to the puzzle though. We'll see.

!

The first Patronus lesson with Professor Lupin went decently. Only Harry was able to produce the faintest of vapors, but Professor Lupin told all three of them that their incantations were perfect. The hardest part, according to the professor, was finding a happy memory. Also, much like they had to practice against something to raise a shield charm, practicing against a dementor would help them learn the Patronus charm.

"Of course," said Professor Lupin, "I can't just expose you to a real dementor for training. But I think I have a workaround."

The workaround was a seventh year boy named Jeremy Rease. His greatest fear was dementors, and for a price, he was willing to participate in the lessons while facing a boggart.

"Now, he's already determined that he's hopeless with the charm, so I wasn't able to entice him with lessons. However, he's agreed to help if you, Harry, will play your fiddle for the social some of the upper years are holding in a couple of weeks."

"What?" asked Harry. Ron snorted beside him.

"Apparently, word has gotten around that you're good enough on the fiddle," said Professor Lupin, "and you play fun music."

"But…"

"And it's not like there's much else they can turn to for music," continued the Professor. "Wireless reception is notoriously bad in the castle. I hear he tried to book that little choir club, but apparently they aren't interested in performing."

"But _I'm_ not interested in performing," said Harry.

"Mr. Rease really wasn't interested in anything else," said Professor Lupin, apologetically.

"Oh, just this one time, Harry. We do need to practice," said Hermione.

Harry sighed long-sufferingly.

!

'I really really need to find where Voldemort hid his horcrux,' Harry thought as loudly as he could at the wall, as he stood shivering in front of it.

Need was important, he was sure of it, which had led him to come back up to the seventh floor corridor shortly after coming in from their morning exercise. Even after a hot shower, he was still cold. But in spite of his determination, and his need, nothing was happening.

Harry thought back to the twins' tale. Hadn't they said they'd been going in circles?

'I really really need to find where Voldemort hid his horcrux,' Harry thought desperately as he spun on the spot.

Nothing happened. Well of course it hadn't. The twins had hardly been twirling like ballerinas. Instead of trying that again, Harry walked down the corridor. Four rights later, and he was back where he had started, still thinking of what he needed. Nothing.

He tried it again at a run.

Nothing.

Harry paced about, shivering, and trying to warm up. What they really needed was a place to exercise in the morning without freezing to death. Hermione was already working on a new schedule that would have them exercise in the afternoon, but even that wouldn't be enough when winter really set in.

A door appeared.

Harry stared at it in amazement. He hadn't even been trying that time! Cautiously, he moved forward and opened the door. His eyes widened at what he saw inside.

It was a gym. A massive gym, with plenty of room to run around, matts to tumble about on, and even weights to lift. There were chin-up bars and jump ropes. Off to one side were two doors, one marked 'boys' and the other marked 'girls', and Harry was sure that there were shower rooms on the other side. It was everything that they wanted. Harry had to pinch himself to keep from going inside. He'd promised Professor Dumbledore to go get him first.

He closed the door to the gym, and it disappeared. Just to test that he could do it again, Harry paced about, this time thinking, 'I really really need to find where Voldemort hid his horcrux.'

A door appeared.

Harry grinned and ran off to find Professor Dumbledore.

!

Professor Dumbledore was nowhere to be found. Regretfully, Harry joined his friends for classes, promising Hermione that he would make up for his missed breakfast, and that he wasn't planning on making a habit of it. Besides, he told them, he had good news to share later in private.

Both Ron and Hermione had a good idea of what that could be, given his latest obsession, and in spite of her earlier admonitions, Hermione nearly flew through lunch so that they could go find a private place to talk.

"I figured it out," said Harry with no preamble. "Just pace back and forth a few times, and think about what you need, and a door appears. I thought about how we need a place to work out in the morning and guess what?"

"No," said Ron doubtfully.

"Yeah," said Harry. "It gave me a gym. A huge one. Then I tried again, thinking about needing to find the horcrux, and voila."

"You didn't…" said Hermione.

"I was good," said Harry. "I didn't even open _that_ door."

"Who are you and what have you done with Harry?" asked Ron.

"I can be responsible," said Harry defensively.

"Sure," said Ron, clearly lacking faith. "So when are you and professor Dumbledore going to go look?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "I couldn't find him this morning."

"Do you think the horcrux is in there?" asked Ron.

"It gave me a door, didn't it?" asked Harry.

"But we don't know if that means anything," said Hermione. "Did you try asking it for something it definitely couldn't give you? Like the actual Eiffel Tower?"

"Er, no," said Harry. "I just tried it those two times."

"Well, we'll see," said Hermione, seeming determined not to get her hopes up.

"Lets get onto the new spells you want us to learn," said Ron.

"Right," said Hermione. "You'll like this, Harry. They're mostly offensive ones."

"Alright!" said Harry excitedly.

"I put expelliarmus at the top, just because I'm not sure we entirely mastered it last year," said Hermione.

"I could do with a little practice," agreed Harry. "But tarantallegra?" he asked dubiously.

"Well let's see," said Hermione. "How about in five seconds, you try to hit me with a spell."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "Five seconds?" he asked, but Hermione was already pointing her wand at him.

"Tarantallegra!" she cried, and Harry found his feet jerking about every which way. He reached for his wand, but dropped it.

"Ah! Hermione! Okay!"

Hermione cancelled the spell.

"I'll never doubt you again," said Harry, and Hermione beamed. "Actually, we might want to practice with that."

"What?" asked Ron.

"Practice trying to fight under its effects," Harry clarified. "You know, in case we get hit with it in battle."

"That's a good idea," said Hermione. "We can incorporate it into our morning routine too. Along with a few others."

"I can see _that_ ending badly," said Ron.

"We'll be fine," said Harry. "Now what's this one? Diffindo?"

!

Later in the evening, when they were finished with their studies in the common room, Hermione asked to speak with Harry alone. By the look on Ron's face, he clearly thought Harry had done something stupid again, and was about to get a lecture from Hermione. Harry though, was a little bewildered as to what Hermione could want to talk about with him alone. Ron declared that he was going to work on his chess correspondence, and walked off.

"What's up?" asked Harry.

Hermione was clearly nervous. "It's just, well, it's not the easiest thing to discuss," she said.

"Okay…" said Harry.

"I mean, I just wanted to let you know, that, I think it would be okay if you maybe had particular feelings for other boys."

… "What?!" asked Harry, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"I'm just saying, that if you were gay, or curious, I think that that would be okay," said Hermione, very carefully.

"But…why would you…what?" asked Harry.

"It's just, when you were in the hospital wing, during the quidditch match. When you were still a little, demented, you said something. And I haven't really been able to get it out of my head, so I've been thinking about it a lot."

"What could I have possibly said?" asked Harry, completely flummoxed.

"You called yourself an abomination," said Hermione.

Had he? Crap. He wished that they hadn't been there to see him like that. "That was the dementor speaking," said Harry.

"The dementor didn't whisper the word 'abomination' in your ear," said Hermione. "They brought it to the surface, but you thought of the word."

"Fine," said Harry exasperatedly. "But why would you jump to me being gay?"

"Or curious," said Hermione. "And well, with, you know, the Dursleys, I thought maybe you had internalized some of their attitudes towards such things."

"The Dursleys had a lot of attitudes," said Harry, "I'd like to think I didn't internalize _any_ of them. Why this specific attitude though?"

"Well that's what people throw that word around about the most, I think. And well, whether you're gay or not, you are a teenaged boy. With hormones. Living in close quarters with other boys…and then there's the quidditch locker room."

"Oh Merlin, please stop talking!" cried Harry, mortified to be hearing this from Hermione, of all people.

"I'm just saying, it would be okay," said Hermione. "Wizarding society isn't even so against it, since we're so much more secular. I don't think anyone's really out and open about it, but…they don't care so much about what happens behind closed doors as long as you also produce an heir."

"Hermione, I'm not gay."

"Or-"

"Or curious," said Harry.

"Well why _did _you say you were an abomination then?" said Hermione.

"What's it matter so much, anyway?" asked Harry, exasperatedly.

"Because there's clearly a part of yourself that you hate, Harry. You hate it so much, you treated yourself like your life was nothing for a year, tried to kill yourself, and sounded disappointed that you had to live for the prophecy. So yes, I think it matters. I wouldn't be butting my nose into your sexuality if I didn't."

"Well…that's all behind me now," said Harry.

"Is it?" asked Hermione.

Everything always came back to the horcrux, but Harry could never just reveal it. So as was becoming a habit, he lied.

"Look, the whole, them trying to kill me thing, it messed me up, okay? Maybe, deep down, it's still bugging me a little. But look at me. I'm doing a lot better, as long as a dementor's not messing with my head."

"Are you sure that that's all it is?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah," said Harry. He felt very guilty for lying, especially after Hermione had just given him a big show of support, if in a very awkward sort of way. But what else could he say?

As they were getting ready for bed later, well ahead of their other dorm mates, Ron asked, "So what did Hermione want to talk to you about?"

"Oh, um, she thought she'd finally figured me out," said Harry.

"Oh? How's that?"

"She thought I was gay," said Harry. "Wanted me to know it would be okay with her."

Ron snorted. "Didn't know that about you, mate."

"Oi, I'm not gay," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

"I don't know, Harry. Hermione's usually right about this sort of thing," said Ron. Harry threw his pillow at him. Ron snatched it, and added it to his own under his head.

"It's mine now, sucker," said Ron.

Harry got up up and yanked his pillow back from under Ron's head. "Well, she was pretty far off base, this time."

"Yeah, I've seen how you look at Lavender," said Ron coyly.

"I have… I don't look at her any sort of way," said Harry, blushing, though in fact, he did.

"And Parvati," said Ron. "And the head girl. And Madam Hooch."

"No," said Harry, "just no."

"Pining for some student-teacher romance, Harry?" asked Ron.

Harry smacked him with his pillow again, making sure to hold onto it this time.

"I'd be cool with it," said Ron, "if you were," not talking about Madam Hooch.

Harry shrugged. "I'd be cool with it if you were, too."

"Yeah, well. Just know that I had my eye on Madam Hooch first, so … dibs."

"She does look good on a broom," Harry admitted. They both started snickering.

!

"And you merely paced in front of it?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"And thought about what I needed, yeah," said Harry. They stood before the stretch of wall in question. "I asked it for what Voldemort hid, and the door appeared."

"Let us hope that that means what we seek is here," said the Professor, "You did not enter?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"I didn't even open the door when I asked for the hiding place," said Harry, who had already told the Professor about the gym he had summoned.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "If you would do the honors," he said.

Harry nodded, and turned to start pacing. Two turns later, and a door appeared.

"Stay behind me Harry, and touch nothing," said Professor Dumbledore, his standard instructions.

He opened the door, and Harry got his first glimpse of what was on the other side.

"Huh," he said.

It was junk. Piles and piles of junk.

"How old is that broom?" asked Harry, for he had seen one just like it in Quidditch: A History.

"If I am not much mistaken," said Professor Dumbledore, "I believe the elves may collectively use this space to dispose of old clutter. It is doubtful if this room could have remained such a secret if this was a product of student leavings alone."

"The castle has elves?" asked Harry, entirely at a loss for how he was supposed to feel about that.

"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore. "They are the source of Hogwarts splendid food, as well as much of the cleaning and maintenance that the castle requires."

"Are they...like Dobby?" asked Harry.

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. "In the sense that they are bound by the same magics as Dobby was. However, they are well treated, and forbidden from punishing themselves. Should they wish to have their freedom, they may have it, yet I have not known a one to be unsatisfied with their service to Hogwarts."

"You mean, they like it?" asked Harry.

"Such is how they were created to be," said Professor Dumbledore. "You can certainly argue that it was immoral to create such a being in the first place. Yet it would also be the height of hubris to decide to free them against their will."

Harry nodded, but still he thought, it may be wrong to force freedom on them, but there was no excuse for it to not be murder to kill one. For it not to be assault to strike one.

Professor Dumbledore began his incantations before he was satisfied that they could enter.

"It is doubtful that Tom had time to leave much in the way of protection," said Professor Dumbledore. "But we shall still be careful."

"I guess we should have asked the elves for help on this one," said Harry.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "It is a common failing to underestimate them. Considering how well they know the school, perhaps we should have gone to them first."

Though he was making sure to walk only where Professor Dumbledore walked, Harry was still looking around in wonder. A lot of it was broken, or useless, but there was just so much unclaimed stuff in there. He could not for the life of him though, figure out why anyone would want to stuff a troll in the first place, looking up at the monstrosity.

"Is that an invisibility cloak?" asked Harry in surprise a moment later.

Professor Dumbledore turned to look where he was pointing. "It does appear to be," he said. "Though it seems to be old and past it's prime. I doubt very much if it would be of much use except for maybe in the dark."

"Invisibility cloaks wear out?" asked Harry in surprise.

Professor Dumbledore studied Harry over his glasses for a moment, before saying, "Most do."

"Will mine?" Harry asked, wanting very much for the answer to be no.

Professor Dumbledore granted the wish. "No," he said. "Yours is an exceptional cloak."

Harry sighed in relief. It would suck if the one heirloom he had was going to wear out.

They continued on, winding their way past piles of junk. The massive room was like a maze, with no organization or reason to its layout. But Professor Dumbledore was content to walk past numerous piles, without pause. He would sense something, every now and then, and examine some bit of junk or another, before moving on. Harry didn't know what his process was, but the Professor seemed confident in it.

Eventually, after what seemed like miles of walking, they came upon a pile that Professor Dumbledore seemed pretty intent upon. He began waving his wand about.

"Do you sense anything?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

Harry frowned, but pointed resolutely at a small cabinet, tossed haphazardly onto a pile. Professor Dumbledore nodded, and with a quick flick of his wand, he opened it.

There was a bust of a man inside, and atop his head what seemed to Harry to be a woman's crown. Professor Dumbledore sucked in a sharp breath, and a look of anger flashed across his face.

"The lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw," he said darkly. He began his incantations once more.

"It belonged to her, then?" asked Harry.

"It was created by her," said Professor Dumbledore. "It was said to grant tremendous wisdom to whomever wore it. However, it was lost around the time of her death, never to be seen again. Can you imagine such a treasure, tarnished so by evil?" For a change, he was a little less than sensitive about Harry's condition.

"Well," said Harry. "It's a good thing we're trying to find a way to remove a Horcrux without destroying the vessel," said Harry.

"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore. "Though now it seems a shame that this will be our first test subject." He turned to Harry. "What was it that made you point to the cabinet, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "It felt, twisted. Like the voice, when I can hear it."

"When did you first notice it?" asked professor Dumbledore.

"After you asked," said Harry.

"I think then, that you should learn to recognize that feeling. It could prove invaluable in the future."

Harry nodded. Professor Dumbledore, meanwhile, levitated the diadem into a heavy sack, which he secured at his side.

"You may use the facilities that you discovered, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "But I will ask you not to return to this room in particular. I have noticed many dangerous items in here, and I haven't the time to make this place safe."

"I understand," said Harry regretfully. He'd seen more than a few things of interest and countless books that Hermione would have loved to see. "Although...could we make one stop on the way out?"

Professor Dumbledore only raised his eyebrows.

"It's just, Christmas is around the corner..."

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," Professor Dumbledore mused. "A reward, for a job well done."

They made their way to the exit then, making only the one stop along the way, Professor Dumbledore much more cheerful now that the profaned diadem was out of sight.

"What's this I hear about you becoming a performer, Harry?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

Harry sighed, very long sufferingly. "You professors all gossip, don't you?" he asked.

"My dear boy, what else do we have to discuss?" asked Professor Dumbledore, a twinkle back in his eyes.

"I don't really want to," said Harry. "It's weird enough practicing down in the common room. It's just that it's the only way to go forward with these Patronus lessons."

"Do not be so pessimistic about it, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "You may find you like performing."

"I doubt it," said Harry, who was still only comfortable in the quidditch spot-light. "And even worse, they insisted that I play this particular music, so all of a sudden, I'm learning new stuff. Like, what's that about?"

"Well," said Professor Dumbledore, "a young man putting this much effort into the details of a party? I suspect young love is in the air."

"Yuck," said Harry, "what am I? His wingman?"

Professor Dumbledore only chuckled.

"Professor," said Harry, "I've been wondering about something."

"And what is that?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"It's just…if there really is a curse on the Defense position, what's going to happen to Professor Lupin?"

"A pressing concern, indeed," said Professor Dumbledore. "Suffice it to say, Professor Lupin will not be teaching again next year." Harry nodded morosely. He was getting attached to their best defense professor yet. "However, I have taken steps that will, hopefully, see to his removal in a controlled way, while still satisfying the curse."

"Couldn't you break the curse?" asked Harry.

"The curse, such that it is, vague and abstract, is a very hard thing to combat," said Professor Dumbledore. "These upcoming holidays though, I plan to bring in a curse-breaking expert to examine the horcrux. His cover will be to see if he cannot break the curse on the defense position. We shall see if he cannot do both."

"Yeah, but," Harry said, feeling selfish for saying it, "he'll be focusing on the horcrux, right?"

"He will, Harry. He'll have time for little else. Recall that this is not an endeavor that I have undertaken lightly."

Hope welled in Harry then. They had a horcrux, and they had a plan. Maybe it wouldn't work, but just maybe Harry would have to figure out a career plan after all.

!

Harry arrived for the social early, as requested. This would be taking up his entire evening, creep past his bed time, and it completely messed up the day's schedule, but if he could learn the patronus, it would be worth it.

The room they set up in was an unused lecture hall. A small platform had been set up where the podium would normally be. The room had been decorated with a Christmas theme, with plenty of mistletoe. Only Rease and a couple others had arrived so far.

"Ah, good," said Rease once he saw Harry had arrived. "You can set up over there. Our singer should be here soon."

"Singer?" asked Harry in surprise.

"Didn't you notice that all of the music I gave you had vocals?" asked Rease. "I tried to get the choir club to do the whole thing, but only one of them was down with it. Said he didn't want to sing a cappella just by himself though, so we'd need to get him accompaniment. He suggested you."

"He did, did he?" Harry deadpanned. Suddenly, everything was fitting into place.

"Hey Harry!" came an excited voice from the entrance. It was Colin Creevey. Harry felt all of the good-will that the boy had earned during the last quidditch match disappear.

"So Colin," said Harry as they were setting up music stands. "You just happened to have a bunch of fiddle music with you when you came to school this year."

"Uh huh," Colin lied with a straight face. Had he owled home for it?

Harry sighed. "So how good of a singer are you?" He didn't want things to go badly, and have Rease back out of the arrangement. Now that he thought of it, he should have had Rease uphold his end of the bargain first.

"I think I'm pretty good," said Collin, "not as good as you are on the fiddle, of course."

"Then we're not doing too well," Harry muttered. "I had Justin help me simplify some of these," he said, indicating the sheet music. "Some of it was too complex."

"We'll do great!" said Colin. "I'm pretty good, and you're…you. We're going to knock their socks off."

Having seen Rease interacting with some of the girls that had arrived already, Harry wasn't sure that it was socks that the older boy was interested in taking off.

"You do realize that the Boy-Who-Lived isn't automatically great at everything, right?" asked Harry.

Colin laughed like Harry had made a funny joke. Harry resisted the urge to throttle the smaller boy.

As it turned out, Colin actually had a very nice voice, and had obviously been practicing his parts as well. Harry was pretty sure that some part of the boy had realized that he was crossing some social boundaries, the way he had gone about everything. Otherwise, why had he never asked to practice _with_ Harry beforehand?

They started out with a version of _Come on Eileen_, which was much more energetic than the version that Harry remembered hearing occasionally on the radio. Colin's still alto voice made good work of it. After that, they alternated between the music Colin had provided and music that Harry already knew, for the simple fact that there was not enough new music to last through the event. For this music that also had vocals included, Colin did his best to sing along, not doing too badly at all.

It was interesting seeing all of the older students mingle, absent any professors or other younger students. They were at once more relaxed, and more serious. They all seemed to be having fun with the holiday themed party, and there was a lot of boy-girl activity, as best as Harry could tell. The older youth were flirting, dancing, and even kissing. Somehow, it all made Harry feel a little alone.

Members of the opposite sex were not the only ones to receive attention that night though, as some party-goers showed their appreciation to the two performers by bringing refreshments or even tips over to them. Harry had been a little surprised, since, after all, he had not been doing it for money in the first place. He did wonder though at why they all had some cash to hand out. Had they anticipated tipping Harry, or was there some Hogwarts economy that he was still ignorant of? Maybe the older students just felt more grown-up carrying money around.

By night's end, Colin was over the moon, though he also seemed to be all sung out. Harry would have thought that nothing could wear out the small boy, who Harry suspected of being perpetually high on caffeine, but apparently a night of near continuous singing could do it. He'd have to remember that. Harry almost told the boy to keep the tips before remembering that Colin was not at all in his good graces at the moment, so they split the proceeds. It was all sickles and knuts, but it wound up being decent pocket change for an upcoming Hogsmeade visit with Professor McGonagall, though he'd have to dip into his own reserves if he wanted to get his Christmas shopping done.

The two boys made their way up to Gryffindor tower together, and Harry finally got around to asking Colin for copies of any pictures that he had taken of Harry, his friends, or interesting goings on around the castle like quidditch games. Colin was over the moon, and probably felt that the night could not have gone any better. The younger boy tried to offer free copies, but Harry insisted on paying for them. He didn't want to be indebted to his enthusiastic stalker.

Harry was the last one in his dorm to go to bed for a change, and as he got ready for bed in the dark room, he considered that things had actually gone rather decently that night.

!

"Attack!" Ron called out from behind Harry. Just passing a set of free-weights, Harry dove behind them, bringing his wand to hand. "Tarantallegra," Ron cried. The spell splashed harmlessly against the weight set. Still on the race track, Hermione stood with a shimmering shield in front of her.

The Room of Requirement was a godsend, especially now that the castle grounds were covered in snow. It had the added benefit of saving them time in the morning, not having to walk out to the quidditch pitch. They had settled on the name for it, after briefly considering "The Room of Needful Things." Hermione had shaken her head to that, citing a creepy Stephen King book.

"Onward," Ron said, starting to jog again.

"Anyway," said Hermione, huffing a little, but still able to carry a conversation. "They're from abroad, but they're supposed to be translated, so we shouldn't have to worry."

"Couldn't you have just gotten muggle defense books, if you couldn't find wizarding ones in the UK?" asked Harry. "I'm sure you could get them from any bookstore domestically."

"I think the wizarding pictures would be a big help," said Hermione, "to make sure we're doing things correctly. I mean, ideally, we'd have an actual martial arts instructor, but this will just be the best we can manage. I'm going to try to compare it to the US Marine Corp martial arts program, which is supposed to be very practical. But not having any moving pictures will be a hindrance."

"When will we have time for it?" asked Ron.

"Well, since the martial arts are a work-out in and of themselves, I think we can just swap them in two or three days of the week in the place of what we're already doing."

"Alright," said Harry. "How much were they?"

"Five galleons, all together," said Hermione.

"Five galleons?" asked Ron in outrage.

"They are imports," said Hermione, "from half-way around the world, translated, and very high quality."

"It's fine," said Harry.

"Locomotor Mortis!" Ron cast without warning, sending Harry crashing to the ground as his legs locked together. Harry's wand was in hand before he hit the ground rolling to the side.

"Expelliarmus!" called Harry, bringing his wand to bear.

Ron shielded, giving Harry time to cancel the spell on his legs. He sprung up, ready to cast another spell, but Ron was done. They began running again.

"Will the translations be good enough?" asked Harry.

"I hope so," said Hermione.

"I'm just wondering if we should, like, try to learn Japanese or something," said Harry.

"You can if you want to," said Hermione. "But they are supposed to be high quality translations."

"We've got enough languages to learn, mate," said Ron.

There were no more attacks or duels before they finished their run. Ron did hit Hermione with Tarantallegra as she was working on her third pull-up though. Harry was pretty sure that Ron enjoyed being the attacker the most out of the three of them. Harry was happier when he was being attacked though, liking the opportunity to put his skills to a bit of a test.

They were still talking about different skills that they wanted to put on their curriculum as they stretched when Hermione gave the deepest of frowns. "I still just can't believe that that bastard cursed the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw!" She had brought this up numerous times since Harry had told her what he and Professor Dumbledore had found.

"Wow, Hermione," said Ron, "tell us what you really feel."

"It's just so unconscionable, a pure travesty, that the diadem is forever lost to us. Think of the wisdom it could have granted! We wouldn't be guessing so much about what we're supposed to be doing."

"Yes, Hermione," Harry deadpanned, "cursing the Diadem was the worst thing Voldemort ever did." He had not, of course, told them of the plan to try to neutralize the horcrux without destroying the diadem, for then they would want to know why.

"Oh, you know what I mean," said Hermione. "And why would he do it in the first place? Now he can't use it either."

"Maybe he did try to use it," said Harry, "and he didn't like what it had to say."

"Nah mate," said Ron, affecting an enlightened voice, "don't split your soul into pieces. That can't be good for you. And you know what? Live, and let live."

"Yeah," said Harry, "I can just imagine his response to that."

"Maybe he wanted it to be found," said Hermione.

"What?" asked Harry.

"Well you said that it was obvious that Voldemort hadn't been the only person in that room. Maybe he cursed the diadem, knowing that if someone found it, they would want to put it on. After all, it's the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. Witches and wizards have searched for it's wisdom for centuries. Only, if someone put it on, I bet they wouldn't hear the wisdom of Ravenclaw."

"Yes," said Ron, now with a sneaky voice, "taking over the Ministry of Magic for You-Know-Who is an excellent idea."

"I think he'd be a little more subtle," said Harry with a laugh.

They finished their stretches not much later, and after quick showers, made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, their book bags ready for the day. They had discovered that much like the room of hidden things, the gym held onto items that they left behind. This allowed them to keep changes of clothes, as well as their grungies, waiting for them, swapping things out every week.

"Potter!" called Oliver as Harry took a seat. The seventh year boy made his way down to sit next to Harry. "Just got word from Madam Hooch, she wants all quidditch team members, all houses, down at the pitch after breakfast. There's some sort of surprise."

"Oh, but we had plans," said Hermione.

"Everyone knows you have plans," said Oliver. "You guys always have plans. You'll have to work around it though. Anyway, I want you to watch the competition while we're there. Chang and Diggory. You've never flown against them, so now's a good time to get a sense of their personalities."

"Oh, I don't think Harry's going to have any problem watching Chang," said Ron slyly. "He was watching her pretty closely at the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match."

"Just watching her technique," said Harry quickly, his voice cracking.

Oliver sensed nothing amiss. "Good job, Harry. Though you should have watched both of them. Diggory flew a good game too. Anyway, be there by 8:15."

Oliver went off in search for the twins then, though good luck finding the two trouble-makers on a Saturday.

"Prat," said Harry to Ron.

"Wanker," said Ron to Harry.

Harry slugged Ron in the arm, and Ron returned the favor. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Boys," she said, disparagingly.

"At least _I _didn't think Harry was staring at Diggory," said Ron with a grin.

Tensions were high with all four quidditch teams in the same place, and dark looks were traded, particularly between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Fortunately, Madam Hooch was there to keep the peace. Harry did watch Cho and Cedric both as they waited, though he had no idea what he was supposed to be learning from them just standing around talking to their teammates.

"Now then," said Madam Hooch once everyone was gathered. "I'm sure you are all wondering why it is we have gathered you here today. It is because we have quite the surprise for all of you. Recently, Hogwarts experienced a sizable windfall of cash. As I understand it, Mr. Potter here made mention to the Headmaster that the quidditch teams should be using standardized brooms. The Headmaster thought this to be a good idea, and so convinced the board of governors to allow for new brooms in order to level the playing field."

Harry was grinning, as were most of the others. The Slytherin team though were shooting Harry dirty looks, for they had just lost their greatest advantage.

"Use of these brooms in the games is mandatory," said Madam Hooch, "no matter what you bring from home. Now, four Nimbus 2001s have been furnished for each team other than Slytherin, who of course already are in possession of these brooms. These are to be used by the seekers and chasers. For the beaters, we have Commet 590s. For the keepers, we have CleanSweep 49s. Though not professional grade, these have been judged to be optimal brooms for each position."

"Beats the pants off of my 510," said one of the Ravenclaw beaters.

"Brooms will be kept down here," said Madam Hooch, indicating four big new lockers, painted in house colors. "They must be returned between practices, captains will be responsible for making sure they are in place."

"What happens if someone breaks theirs?" asked Flint, casting a dark look at Draco.

"Within reason, you are responsible for your brooms," said Madam Hooch. "Quidditch is of course a tumultuous sport, so you need mostly concern yourselves with reckless or careless behavior."

"Hear that, Harry," said Alicia. "No reckless behavior."

"Yeah, yeah," said Harry, unwilling to be pulled from his excitement.

"I'm sure you are all excited to begin practicing with your new brooms," said Madam Hooch. "I have already created a practice schedule for the day, slots were filled at random. Hufflepuff has first practice, starting after this meeting concludes. Team captains, you'll find that you will have no trouble with opening your team lockers. Any questions?"

"What happens to our extra Nimbuses?" asked Flint.

"They will be held in reserve, for the Slytherin team" said Madam Hooch. "In case any more are damaged. Any more questions?"

There were none, and so she left them to their own devices.

"Precious Potter," said Malfoy. "Has an idea about quidditch, and they rush to make it happen."

Rather than starting any Slytherin-Gryffindor byplay though, the Ravenclaw captain piped up.

"Well, it's a good idea, isn't it," he said. "Kind of like it _was_ a good idea to let a swotty rich boy onto a team in exchange for some brooms. It's just too bad it hasn't worked out for your lot as well."

"I'll have you know-" Malfoy started.

"We'll see what happens on the pitch," Flint cut in, glaring at the Ravenclaw captain. "Come on," he said, stalking out of the locker room, and taking his players with him.

Harry was very popular with his team as they made their way up to the castle. Wood only bemoaned that they hadn't had the new brooms before the Gryffindor-Slytherin match, where they could have been used to create a bigger point-spread against the snakes.

"I just can't believe I get to fly on a 2001," said Angelina dreamily.

"And those 520s are perfect for beaters," said Fred.

"Can't wait to have a go," said George.

"Good thing we have a guy with the headmaster's ear," said Fred.

"I just live here," said Harry, not wanting to go into just how he'd had the opportunity to mention his idea to the Professor.

The others only nodded though. As a Ward of the Castle, it only made sense that Harry would have the opportunity now and then to pitch an idea to the headmaster.

"Still, I wonder where all the money came from," said Alicia.

Oliver shrugged. "Someone probably died and left it to the school," he said.

'Yeah,' thought Harry, 'a thousand years ago.'

!

"Expecto Patronum!" cried Harry, eliciting a silvery mist. It was of little use though, as the dementor, fake or not, overpowered it. Despair started to set in, but Professor Lupin was quick to leap in-between Rease and the Boggart. Instantly, the sense of dread disappeared, as the Boggart turned into a brilliant sphere.

Ron tossed Harry a piece of chocolate, and Harry stuffed it in his mouth gratefully, walking back past the lupine patronus of Professor Lupin to join the rest of the group.

"My turn," said Hermione, and though she looked pale, she took her place in front of the boggart. Professor Lupin stepped back, and the moon turned back into a Dementor.

"Expecto Patronum!" cast Hermione, but only the faintest of mists came from her wand. "Expecto Patronum!" she cast again, with less spirit. Unlike Harry, his friends were both able to keep trying after an initial failure, while Harry was mostly useless once the Dementor had him in it's thrall.

Again, Professor Lupin stepped forward.

"That's a good try," he said, stuffing the moon back into the chest he was keeping the boggart in. "Let's talk happy memories, for a minute, before we go on. Harry, what are you focusing on?"

"Er," said Harry. "Just thinking about all the cool stuff I did last summer."

"Well," said Professor Lupin. "Cool stuff is…cool. But we're looking for something deeper. More meaningful. Maybe if something profound or uplifting happened during your vacation, but I would look a little closer to home."

Harry frowned, deep in thought.

"How about you, Mr. Weasley?" asked Professor Lupin.

"I was thinking about last year, after Harry saved Ginny, and killed that basilisk. And everyone was waking up, and everything was right again."

"Are there also any negative memories associated with that?" asked Professor Lupin.

Ron cast a meaningful glance towards Harry. "Yeah, maybe. Like, a bunch of stuff that happened first." Like Harry stabbing himself with a basilisk fang.

"Maybe something else then," said Professor Lupin. "I saw in the Prophet this summer that most of your family was able to get together. You might find something there. And how about you, Miss Granger?"

"I've been focusing on when I received my Hogwarts Letter," said Hermione, "when I found out I was a witch."

"Now, is it that moment that makes you especially happy, or is it that that moment led to something wonderful? Try to go to the moment of happiness for the strongest memory."

Hermione nodded, a determined look on her face.

"Well," said Professor Lupin. "Since it seems that you all have a lot to think about, I think we should call it quits for the day."

"Can I go then?" asked Rease. He had been seated facing away from the boggart the whole time. Behind the Professor's patronus, he would be able to pretend the dementor wasn't really there. He still looked a little pale.

"That's fine," said Professor Lupin. "Just be here on time next week."

"I will, sir," said Rease. "See you guys later." He didn't stick around for pleasantries.

"I'm surprised he hasn't chickened out," said Ron.

"Oh, be nice," said Hermione. "He's here, isn't he? Or he was, anyway."

"I just can't believe he agreed to it just so Harry would play at his party," said Ron.

Having seen Rease kissing a particular girl most of the night as they swayed to the music, Harry was pretty sure he knew why the other boy thought it a fair deal.

!

"Professor McGonagall," said Hermione, "could I come in to talk?"

"By all means, Miss Granger. These _are_ my office hours," said Professor McGonagall.

Hermione stepped into the office and took a seat across from her head of house, looking a little nervous.

"What is it that I can help you with today?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"It's just, I need to figure out how to get more into my day, without sacrificing the things I need to do," said Hermione, hating to admit that she was finding it a challenge to keep up with everything.

"Am I correct in my belief that you and your friends are keeping to the same activities, studies, and schedules?" asked Professor McGonagall.

Hermione blushed. "Well, yes professor."

"I know that you are much more diligent than the other two, though they have shown themselves to be capable of much more this year. Why don't you tell me what extra things you've taken on that's left you straining to keep up."

"Well," said Hermione, "I'm studying an extra language for Ancient Runes. It's not part of any of the curriculums, but there's some books I'm interested in. And then, well I'm the one who tracks and changes our schedules every week. The boys are good about watching what they eat, but I'm the one keeping track of that as well. Our exercises too. We just got some books on martial arts in, but we can't just start doing the exercises, someone has to go through the books and figure out how we're going to go about it. Now, I've got these psychology books coming, and I'll need to find time for those. And I'm committed to nine hours of sleep a night! That's an hour less study time than last year."

"And you think revising your schedule with me will help with this load?" asked Professor McGonagall, looking a little exasperated.

"I know Percy's going to more classes than he should be able to," said Hermione, "somehow, he's in more than one place at once. Is there a way to split myself in two for a little while?"

"No," said Professor McGonagall. She sighed. "There is an allowance that I was considering for you, before you reduced your course load over the summer. Mr. Weasley attends all of his classes through small jumps through time, allowing him to be in two places at once, and to have more time in the day."

"That doesn't sound terribly healthy," said Hermione.

"It's not particularly healthy for you," agreed Professor McGonagall. "That is why we offer it only to our most mature students, who we feel are capable of making the decision of whether or not to use it. Do you know what else does not sound terribly healthy?"

Hermione looked down at her lap, her cheeks blushing. "My workload," she said.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, when was the last time you did something for yourself that had nothing whatsoever to do with Mr. Potter's endeavor? Or better yet, the last time you did something that wasn't centered on him at all?"

Hermione thought for a moment. She barely knew how to separate out one from the other. "I suppose, it must have been that bonfire," she finally said.

"That bonfire was over a month ago," said Professor McGonagall.

"But he needs my help," said Hermione earnestly. "Not just to defeat Voldemort, he's…depressed. I mean, he's been a lot better this year, but there's still something terrible bothering him, I just know it."

"You have been a tremendous friend for Mister Potter, Miss Granger, but you are crossing the bounds of friendship. You are not just allowing his life to consume your own, you are trying to dictate how he feels and behaves. Support him, fine, but please do not use those psychology books for anything other than some light reading."

When Hermione said nothing in reply, Professor McGonagall went on.

"Do you know who the most promising student we have in the castle is?"

Hermione shook her head.

"It's not Harry Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "It's not Percy Weasley. It's not even any of our Ravenclaws. It's you, Miss Granger. I haven't seen a witch with so much potential in over a generation. Now 100 years down the line, what do you want to be known for? For being Mister Potter's clever friend? Or for being a revolutionary in whichever field you choose?"

"But what we're doing _is_ important," said Hermione.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall, "it's very important. And how are you going about this task of getting ready to face He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers?"

"For right now, we're just trying to grow up into the best witch and wizards we can be, and focusing on defense a lot, mostly," said Hermione.

"Then might I make the suggestion that that be what you focus on, instead of your end goal of the destruction of these dark forces?"

"Why?" asked Hermione.

"It's a very daunting task, preparing to bring down a terrible dark wizard," said Professor McGonagall. "Why, it's almost enough to make a diligent young woman work herself into a nervous breakdown. It's enough for you to forget who you are, and what you want in your life.

"Miss Granger, I care very much for Mr. Potter, especially now that I am his guardian. I am glad that he has such a good friend as yourself, and Mister Weasley. However, I will be very disappointed in you if you allow any boy to be the entirety of your life."

"I guess…I can see what you mean," said Hermione.

"Let's practice," said Professor McGonagall. "Tell me something about you that has nothing to do with Mr. Potter."

Hermione thought for a minute. "I think, or I'm pretty sure now, that I'm getting a cavity."

Professor McGonagall looked a little taken aback. "Are your parents not specialists on teeth?" she asked.

"They are," said Hermione, "and I do brush twice a day, and floss regularly. I don't know, I'm just so much more active these days, I'm eating more sugar."

"You will need to see Madam Pomfrey for the cavity," said Professor McGonagall. "So you have not learned the mouth cleansing charm yet?"

"There's a charm for that?" asked Hermione.

"It's on the next year's curriculum," said Professor McGonagall, "though I'm sure Professor Flitwick will not begrudge me if I teach it to you now. It is a simple incantation, Sanitaire Effluer, there is no particular wand movement. Simply point your wand at your open mouth. Most prefer it to brushing, and it _is _more effective."

"Okay," said Hermione, "we just won't tell my parents about this then."

"My lips are sealed, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall. "Now that we're getting into the swing of things, why don't you tell me what you would like to do with your life, if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were to be neutralized tomorrow. Perhaps there is something there that you can focus on when you leave for holidays tomorrow."

"Oh, I've actually put some thought into that," said Hermione, smiling.

!

"Mr. Mittal, a pleasure to welcome you back to Hogwarts," greeted Albus.

"I suspect that the pleasure will be mine," said Mr. Mittal, "once I have again learned why I am here."

"Straight to business again, I see," said Albus. "We have much to discuss. But first, have you put any thought into your cover?"

"Removing this curse? I do not believe I will be successful. Not when my attention will be on another matter entirely. It is a complex problem to be certain. One that I would need to focus entirely on. Perhaps when this is over, I will have the opportunity to take a close look at the Defense position."

Albus inclined his head. "In that case, let us begin with our true objective."

!

"Dudley!" cried Petunia as he tumbled out of the fireplace, she rushed over to him.

"Hey, Mum," said Dudley.

"Oh, look at you," said Petunia, drinking in the sight of her son.

"Happy Christmas," said Dudley.

"Happy Christmas," said Petunia, getting teary now. "Oh, and you've gotten so much bigger."

"Nuh uh," said Dudley, "I've lost weight."

"Well you are taller," said Petunia. "But why are you losing weight? Isn't Marge feeding you enough?"

"I'm on a diet," said Dudley. "It was coach's idea."

"Coach?" asked Petunia. "Are you on a team, Dudley?"

"Wrestling," said Dudley. "It's the only good thing about my new school."

"I do wish you could still be going to Smeltings," said Petunia.

"Aunt Marge said she couldn't afford it," said Dudley with a touch of petulance.

"Well, as long as something good has happened," said Petunia. "That's something, at least. And oh, I've made so much food. All of your favorites. I hope it's okay, with your diet."

Dudley shrugged his heavy shoulders. "I can have a cheat day for Christmas," he said. "I already told Aunt Marge not to make too much."

"Oh, wonderful," said Petunia, relieved.

"But small servings," said Dudley. "There's a weight class I'm trying to get into."

!

"Hermione, what are you still doing up?" her mother asked as she came into Hermione's room. "You know Santa doesn't come unless all the good girls and boys are in bed."

"I'm thirteen, mom," said Hermione, who'd gotten back out of bed after failing to fall asleep.

"I know; I still miss the little girl who wrote to Santa with a book list a mile long. So what are you still working on?"

"Well, it's some literature Professor McGonagall gave me before the end of the quarter. I guess I'm trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up…That is, if I really can't do it all. I had already gone to bed, but, I don't know, my mind just wouldn't stop working."

"You're thirteen, Hermione," her mother said, mirroring her. "You don't need to have everything planned out just yet."

"I know I don't," said Hermione, "I'd just like to have something to aim for, in the meanwhile. I'll probably change my mind later, but still, I want to have an ambition."

Her mother rolled her eyes. "Hermione Jane Granger, no one has ever mistaken you for a girl without ambition."

Hermione blushed proudly. "I want a more specific ambition," she said.

"Well what's this, then?" asked her mother, picking up one of Hermione's papers. "'Department of Mysteries: Unspeakable.'"

"They do research into the mysteries of magic for the Ministry," said Hermione. "It's a very prestigious job."

"Sounds perfect," said her mother.

"I know, but there's a bunch of other things that sound perfect too," said Hermione.

"Well, we have plenty of time to go over it all during the rest of your break," said her mother. "Now it's time for bed."

"I know," said Hermione with a sigh. She only hoped that she'd actually fall sleep sometime soon. "Goodnight, mum."

"Goodnight, my love," said her mother, kissing her on the forehead, before leaving.

Hermione had been having a good time being with her parents for the holidays. They had been keeping her busy with different activities, but at night, with her brain still so active lately, and it was hard for Hermione's mind not to wander back to all of the things she was used to worrying about. Harry, Voldemort, and everything in between. Still, she was glad that she had come home; away from the castle, it became all the clearer just how focused she was on trying to fix Harry. But Professor McGonagall was right, it wasn't her place to fix her friends. She just wished her brain would cooperate.

!

When Hermione had announced that she was going to go home for Christmas, Ron had hurried off to the owlery to ask his parents if Harry could come over for the holiday. As it turned out, Harry was welcome, but couldn't go due to safety concerns. Ron had decided to stay at the castle with Harry, a gesture that Harry appreciated a lot. Perhaps to make up for Harry being stuck at Hogwarts, the twins had offered to smuggle him into Hogsmeade the day before they left for home (blindfolded, of course, so Harry wouldn't learn their trade secrets) but Harry had turned them down. It had been a wrench, but he couldn't justify sneaking out when Professor McGonagall was already planning on taking him out in a couple of days anyway. It would have felt like a betrayal to his head of house and guardian.

With the absence of the other students came the presence of Mr. Mittal, the curse breaker that Professor Dumbledore had hired. He was seen, now and then, at mealtimes. The few students remaining wished the man luck in removing the curse on the Defense position, wanting to hold onto Professor Lupin. Harry, who had already met the man in Professor Dumbledore's office, prayed for something very different. It weighed on him, every time he saw the man about.

Christmas Eve day dawned with a fresh layer of powdery white snow outside, and Harry and Ron, being the only Gryffindors in the castle, went out on their own for some winter fun. Ron tried his hand at transfiguring a toboggan, with fun results. Later, this inspired Harry to try to transfigure a snowboard like he had seen once on the telly. This resulted in a trip to Professor McGonagall for first aid, in lieu of the absent Madam Pomfrey ("Muggle sports! Honestly, Mr. Potter"). It was good to get away from their relentless studies for a while and let loose. They still had some revising to do through the break, but most of their days had been free and relaxed so far, with far fewer obligations.

As per their sleep schedule, Harry and Ron woke up bright and early at six o'clock on Christmas Day. They forewent their morning workout for the presents at the feet of their beds.

"Knives?" asked a bewildered Ron, who had just opened Harry's present to him.

"Thowing knives," said Harry, who was crawling about the foot of his bed, examining the pile of presents. "In case you lose your wand in a fight. I got sets for Hermione and myself too."

"Gee, thanks," said Ron, not so enthusiastically. He was perhaps used to Harry's more personalized gifts of the past, but Harry had been unable to get the thought of what could happen to one of them if they were separated from their wands out of his head.

"We can practice throwing them later," said Harry.

Ron reevaluated the knives. "That might actually be fun," he conceded.

Harry was busy pulling on a new Weasley jumper.

"Hey," said Harry, "figure Scabbers deserves some mince pie for Christmas?" He offered up one of the small pies Mrs. Weasley had sent.

"Yeah," said Ron, "poor guy deserves a treat."

He pulled Scabbers from his pajama shirt pocket and set him in front of Harry's proffered pie. The rat looked poorly indeed. He had lost weight, and was missing a fair amount of fur. Harry was pretty sure he wasn't long for the world. Perhaps the supposed grim in Ron's teacup had been meant for Scabbers, who Ron had taken to leaving on his bed with a warming charm at all times. At any rate, Harry suspected that for Ron's birthday, he would need look no further than the magical pet shop for a gift for his best friend.

"Hey thanks, mate," said Harry, holding up a new stash of cauldron cakes and sugar quills, enough to see him through the next term.

"Cheers," said Ron. He peeked over at Harry's gift pile. "Hey, what do you think that is?"

He was pointing to a long and thin box. It looked very familiar, and Harry didn't have to tax his memory at all to remember the delivery of his Nimbus 2000. Harry pushed everything aside to get to the box, and tear off the wrapping paper.

"Oh Merlin!" said Harry when he finally had the package opened.

"Is that a-"

"It's a Firebolt!" Harry exclaimed.

"I can't believe it," said Ron. "Who sent it?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "There isn't a card." He had taken the precious object from it's box now, and held it reverently. The name "Firebolt" was emblazoned in gold lettering, as was the broom's serial number. "Wood's going to kill me for suggesting standardized brooms now."

"No kidding," said Ron. "Even I want to beat you up now. We could cream every team in seconds with that broom. But who'd send it to you and not say anything?"

"I don't know," said Harry again, "but I'm not complaining."

"I think I'd have to hit you if you started complaining," said Ron.

"We have to go try this out, like right now," said Harry.

"Well yeah!" said Ron, already yanking off his pajama tops to get dressed. They nearly raced into their winter gear.

"Ron, I can't wait. Grab my Nimbus, we're going through the window."

"Best Christmas ever!" exclaimed Ron as he raced to Harry's wardrobe to grab Harry's 2000. Harry opened up the window between their beds. Mounting up, they flew out into the brisk December morning.

"Ron, I'm just coasting here, but this already feels amazing," said Harry.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Ron. "Let's see what that thing can do."

Harry shot forward, the acceleration was phenomenal. For a second, Harry was worried that he would black out, but he quickly reached the broom's top speed, the ground whizzing by below him. The cold air made his face numb, and Harry was very glad for charmed winter wear. He did a barrel role. The action was so smooth, he couldn't help doing three more, before he pulled a tight loop. He screamed out in pure joy, turning back towards Ron, who was racing out at the Nimbus's top speed to come and join him. It took him a few seconds to catch up.

"Mate, that's intense!" said Ron. "You were barely a blur. Imagine a quidditch match on just Firebolts."

Harry grinned. "Just wait until you get a turn."

"You'll let me have a go?" asked Ron.

"Of course," said Harry. "Come on, let's get to the pitch. I want to try this out against a snitch."

They were out for maybe a half-hour before Professor McGonagall came running out.

"Mr. Potter! Come down here at once!" she shouted, her voice magically assisted.

Harry and Ron shared a glance from their brooms before shrugging and flying down to their head of house.

"Harry, is that what I think it is?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"It is if you think it's a brand new Firebolt!" Ron exclaimed.

"Where did it come from?" asked Professor McGonagall. "I trust you did not spend all of your money on a broom you cannot even fly in a match."

"Nah," said Harry, "someone sent it to me for Christmas."

"Who?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"I don't know," said Harry. "There wasn't a note."

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "Harry, I must insist that you get off of that broom."

"Why?" asked Harry, alarmed.

"At once, Mr. Potter," she said sternly.

Reluctantly, Harry dismounted. When Professor McGonagall held out her hand, he handed it over, though it pained him to do so.

"Did it never occur to you that this could be cursed?" asked Professor McGonagall. "You must learn to be more cautious, Harry. Sending an extravagant present such as this is very suspicious indeed."

"Who'd curse a Firebolt?" asked Ron.

"I can think of at least one suspect," said Professor McGonagall dryly.

"But Black's a wanted man," said Ron. "He can't exactly go into Diagon Alley for one."

"Black is an incredibly capable and resourceful wizard," said Professor McGonagall. "You would do well not to underestimate the man. Now, this broom will need to be stripped-down to check for any jinxes or curses."

"Stripped-down!?" asked Ron, clearly horrified.

"Please, Professor," said Harry. "I already flew it, and nothing happened."

"That does not mean that it is safe," said Professor McGonagall. "Now I will return it to you only once Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch have had an opportunity to look it over."

"But it'll be alright, right? They won't hurt the broom?" asked Harry earnestly.

"Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, "do put more concern into your own life than into the well being of your broom."

She left them at that, returning to the castle with Harry's beloved broomstick.

"I can't believe she took it before I had a chance to ride it," said Ron.

"I can't believe she took it period," said Harry.

"Mind," said Ron, "I was wondering why someone would get you one after it was announced in the paper that the school had gotten standardized brooms, and all."

"Well if Black cursed it," said Harry, "he did a rotten job of it, didn't he?"

"Maybe he's not so scary after twelve years of Azkaban. Maybe breaking out was his last great trick, and he can't do anything right anymore."

"Lucky me if he is," said Harry. "But he did get in and out of the castle without anyone stopping him."

"There's that," said Ron.

"You know, I almost hope it was some inept assassination plot from Black," said Harry. "That would be good for a laugh, as long as I get the broom back."

"Oh, you _have_ to get the broom back," said Ron.

"Tell me about it. Riding that was like nothing I've ever experienced."

"Oh sure," said Ron. "Rub it in."

"You'll get your turn," said Harry. "I just hope it doesn't take forever."

"You want to keep flying?" asked Ron.

"Nah," said Harry. "It wouldn't be the same. Let's head back. Try to salvage Christmas.

!

There was a lumpy package, sitting innocuously between their two beds, along with all of the other presents sent to them jointly. Fred picked it up, poking about it, trying to figure what it could be before he opened it. Some sort of clothes, he supposed.

"Oh, hey," he said. "It's from Harry."

"I didn't know we'd made his list," said George. "What is it?"

"Not sure," said Fred. "All the card says is, 'Use it wisely.' And then there's a smiley face that's winking, so, I'm guessing we're not actually supposed to use it wisely."

"I'd be disappointed if he thought we'd do anything wisely. Now, stop prattling, and open it," said George.

Fred shrugged, and tore away at the wrapping paper.

"No!" exclaimed George.

"I think...it might be..."

"An invisibility cloak!" whispered George urgently, for their mother could never catch wind that they owned one.

"There's another note," said Fred, opening it. "'Hey guys, found this, and thought of you. It's old, but it should work when there's not much light. Figured the castle could use some more laughs with all the dementors around.'" He paused. "I think it is one."

George grabbed it and shook it out, before throwing it over himself.

"Well?" he asked.

"I mean," said Fred, "Yeah, it's not perfect, but that's definitely an invisibility cloak."

"Just think of the possibilities," said George.

"Think of the mayhem," said Fred.

"I don't think Harry know's what he's unleashed upon the world," said George.

Fred shook his head. "I'm pretty sure he's counting on it."

!

Padfoot's canine jaw dropped. Cursed? Who would curse a Firebolt? Padfoot wouldn't send _Snape _a cursed Firebolt. This was just _perfect_. It had been amazing, watching Harry and his best friend flying about, both clearly ecstatic. This was what happy moments were like; he had almost forgotten what that emotion was. Now it was over so abruptly, and Harry was looking kind of morose.

Of course, the broom would be fine. There weren't any actual curses on it, and the professors wouldn't damage the thing, particularly McGonagall, who was a quidditch enthusiast herself. But oh how it burned for yet another thing to have gone so wrong, stemming once again from the betrayal, and Sirius's decision to go after Peter all those years ago.

Padfoot watched as Harry and his friend walked back to the castle, from his hiding place behind the quidditch locker rooms. Everything would be to rights again when the rat was dead. Then Harry and he could make dozens of happy Christmas memories. Everything would be right, then.

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! Given the heat recently, I figured you guys could use a winter wonderland this chapter.

Many thanks to the anonymous reviewer who pointed out for the last chapter that as Harry no longer wears glasses, he would not need to apply an imperturbable charm to them for the last game. I've made the appropriate changes.

Talking about changes, I've also taken the time to go through Isis's Bane and The Horcrux Within to fix small errors. Anyone who's got copies saved may want to update them.


	19. 18 Revelation

Disclaimer: JK Rowling retains full credits for Harry Potter. There are other publishers and distributors involved, I am affiliated with none of them.

Revelation

"I regret to inform you, that Mr. Mittal made little progress on his research this holiday season, Harry."

Harry shrugged, impassive; internally he wilted. He had been hoping, even though he knew better.

"I figured it was a long shot," he said.

"I do not mean that he is finished, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "We had hoped for more progress, yes, but we knew that this would be a long process. He will be back."

"I understand," said Harry. "I won't give up hope. I just…won't raise them any higher."

"Perfectly reasonable," said Professor Dumbledore with a nod. "So tell me, Harry, how are your patronus lessons fairing?"

"Better," said Harry. "I'm producing a lot of mist now. I think it's starting to take form." The problem had been in finding a proper happy memory for the spell. He had tried the moment when Ron and Hermione had agreed to help him stop Voldemort, but that had been too bundled up with bad memories. The ride on the Firebolt wasn't good enough, not in the face of Harry's debilitating relationship with dementors. Harry had wound up going back to his memories of that summer. Except, instead of focusing on the cool things he had done, he focused on how at peace he had felt, and his resolution that that was what he would do when this was all over, if he survived. Harry wanted to travel, and to discover other ways of life and more ways that humanity was bound together. To learn as many languages as he could. He wanted to live in that peace for as long as he possibly could.

"That's very good progress, indeed," said Professor Dumbledore, sounding pleased.

"Hermione's doing about as well too. And Ron's making a good bit of mist."

"Then your diligence is paying off," said Professor Dumbledore. "You should be proud."

"Not as proud as I'd be if dementors weren't an issue for me in the first place," said Harry.

"Dementors are an issue for everyone, Harry" Professor Dumbledore chided. "Your accomplishment is all the more impressive for the trouble you do have with dementors."

Harry shrugged. "You have a nice Christmas, professor?" he asked, changing the subject.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Well, Harry. One of these days I will have to sneak you into the staff Christmas party. I dare say you would hardly recognize your professors."

!

Harry gagged, his head over a toilet. He could hear the sound of retching coming from Ron's stall as well.

"Dude, this place is going to blow. Up," a boy washing up at the sinks said dramatically across the bathroom.

"You act like there's no teachers left at all," said another boy.

"Dumbledore, Lupin, and Snape are gone," said the first, still trying to impress his companion as to just how dire the situation was. "I'm telling you, this castle is always just on the tipping point of chaos, and now the balance has shifted."

"Pft," said the second, clearly dismissive. "Professor Dumbledore and Professor Lupin practically encourage trouble making. And Snape's got nothing on McGonagall. It's just going to be another weekend."

"Well…the dog's new, at least," said the first boy, clearly trying to keep the excitement up."

"I wonder if it's Hagrid's."

"I've never seen it with Hagrid."

"Yeah, but it's certainly big enough to be Hagrid's," said the second boy.

"I swear, it's a grim," said the first.

Harry didn't care about the big black dog that had been spotted on the grounds; he was too miserable from the Draught of Many Tongues. No wonder Ancient Runes was the smallest class in Hogwarts. He, Ron, Hermione, and all of the other Ancient Runes students had all been terribly ill all day. Aside from the nausea, Harry had a terrible headache, and his body was at times given to the shakes. But when he wasn't throwing up in the bathroom, he was cramming with Hermione and Ron, and a few other Runes students, and the languages were sticking now in a way they never had before.

Feeling better, they made their way back to the Library, where Hermione was waiting for them. She didn't look much better than they felt. As they sat down, Hermione dug into her pocket and handed them both nutritive potions, which they both downed. The potion at least was soothing to the stomach. Because of the nature of the Draught of Many Tongues, the potion was the only way to feed their brains and not throw up in the process.

They started taking turns, reading out passages in the different Futharks and Ancient Egyptian for the other two to translate into English. Egyptian was the hardest, using pictograms, and being so far removed from their native tongue, though the Futharks threw them at times too, being relatively similar to each other.

Later, they trudged down to the castle grounds for a scheduled, and mandatory, break. Harry bent over and retrieved a handful of snow, pressing it to his face.

"Oh, this feels so good right now," he said, sighing in relief.

Ron and Hermione, both as miserable as he was, soon copied him.

"We better find the answer to defeating Voldemort in some ancient book that has no translation," said Ron. "I'm telling you, all the people who do this for a lark are nuts."

"Well they're not doing it for a lark, are they," said Hermione. "They've got their own goals."

"Not worth it," declared Harry, who had found a nice patch of snow to collapse on.

"Just because it's not defeating a dark lord," said Hermione, "is no reason to say it's not worth it."

"Yeah, well I'm biased," said Harry.

"Now say that in Elder Futhark," said Hermion, who, along with Ron, had laid down also.

"We're on a break!" cried Ron. "A mandatory break, so we don't have a melt-down. You know I'm dreaming about runes at night, right?"

"Oh, we'll be fine in a couple of days," said Hermione.

"I think I'm with Ron on this one," said Harry. "I'll be very disappointed if the secret to defeating Voldemort isn't written in Ancient Epyptian."

"It just might be," said Hermione.

"You know," said Harry, "this might be a good time to brainstorm on hiding places for the you-know-whats." He pulled out his notebook on horcruxes. "What with all this extra brain-power."

"It only works on languages," said Hermione.

"That's so lame," said Harry, flipping through his notes anyway. "What do you guys think about his old orphanage?"

"You shot that down already," said Ron. "Remember, you said unless Voldemort burned it down, salted the ground, and built a monument to himself there…"

"Yeah, yeah," said Harry. "It's just worth looking into, I think. I mean, I'd rather waste a little time searching the wrong building than maybe not find all of the you-know-whats before I have to fight Voldemort again."

"Oh, can we just take a nap out here?" asked Hermione.

"If you want to freeze to death on accident," said Ron.

"You know, I think I could eat some ice cream," said Hermione. "I bet I could keep that down."

"You'd throw it up," said Harry.

"No, I think I could," said Hermione.

"Nah," said Ron, "we'd all go to the Great Hall tonight, so you could have your ice cream; and that Creevy kid would be so excited to see Harry in the Great Hall again, he'd come to take a picture, and the next thing you know, he's flashing a picture of you throwing-up all over Harry here."

"Please stop talking," Harry said urgently, suddenly feeling queasy again himself.

"Ride it out, Harry," Hermione said encouragingly, "you can do it."

Harry moaned.

Suddenly, there was a humungous dog, standing right over him.

"Wha?" Harry managed to get out, before the dog started licking his face enthusiastically.

Harry struggled to get up, pushing the dog's head away from him, as Ron started laughing.

"Oh, so you're the one everyone's talking about," said Harry.

"He _would_ look like a grim," said Ron, "if he wasn't obviously an overgrown puppy."

The dog sure did act like it, rolling about on the ground now, asking them to play with it. Harry wasn't so sure, though, seeing as his primary experience with dogs was with his aunt Marge's.

"I am way too sick to play with a dog," said Harry.

"I'm not," declared Hermione, who crawled over to it to rub it's belly.

"I don't know," said Ron, "I don't think this thing's nearly lethal enough to be Hagrid's."

"Have you seen Fang?" asked Harry. "He's a baby. Besides, are you seeing how huge this dog is? Give him a couple more heads, and he could be Fluffy."

"Oh, you're too sweet to be a Cerberus, aren't you?" Hermione cooed to the dog.

Ron started laughing at the spectacle, before the laugh turned to a moan, Ron clutching his stomach.

They fell silent for a moment, before Ron picked the conversation back up. "Maybe whoever's been pulling all the pranks recently brought the dog in."

"Oh, you say that like it's not your brothers," said Hermione.

"I don't know," said Ron. "This is like, some next generation stuff that's been happening. I'm not sure if the twins are capable enough. They're only fifth years. I mean, I try never to underestimate them, but you don't learn the really stealthy charms until seventh year. Remember, Hagrid said that whoever charmed those snow golems did it right in front of him, only he didn't see a thing."

"Oh, that was so rude," said Hermione. "It's exactly the sort of thing the twins would have thought was funny."

"If they could do it though!" said Ron, not as forcefully as he would have were he feeling well.

Harry smirked to himself. The twins could if they had an invisibility cloak. The dog meanwhile seemed more excited than ever.

Harry looked at his watch. "Come on guys, we're due back in the tower to meet with Peakes." The older student had offered to have some simple conversations with them in Younger Futhark.

"Why do we need to be conversational in this again?" asked Ron.

"It's good practice," said Hermione.

"Ugh," said Ron. "Come on then."

They all got up, and started trudging back to the castle. The dog started accompanying them.

"Would you look at this," said Harry. "I can pet this guy's back without bending over at all."

"Well you are pretty titchy," said Ron.

"Oy!" said Harry.

"But _I _can pet his back without bending over too, so he is pretty big."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just wait," he said. "Just one growth spurt."

"Keep dreaming," said Ron.

"No, puppy, you need to stay outside," said Hermione as the large black dog tried to accompany them into the castle. But the dog was having none of it.

"Sit! Stay!" Hermione tried, but to no avail.

"Oh, leave off it," said Harry.

"Well dogs aren't allowed in the castle," said Hermione. "Only owls, cats, and toads." She cast a look at Ron. "And other _small _pets," she added.

"Let a prefect chase him out then," said Ron. "He's not our responsibility, and we have more than enough on our plates."

"And what if Filch gets his hands on the poor boy?" asked Hermione.

"I'd like to see him try!" said Harry with a groaning laugh.

"Imagine Mrs. Norris up against this guy," said Ron.

"No, don't make me laugh," said Harry, clutching his gut.

"Oh fine," said Hermione, "we do need to get to our appointment."

So the dog followed them through the castle. They were lucky, for though the dog got more than a few stares, no authority figures spotted it and made a scene. Hermione put her foot down when they got to the common room though.

"You are absolutely not coming into the common room with us," she told the dog. The dog whimpered in response, but Hermione was not moved. Harry, meanwhile, pulled out his notebook, where he had written all of the passwords for the week, as the mad knight that guarded the common room now changed it every day.

"Chivalry," he declared to the knight, who was trying to engage the dog in battle.

"'Chivalry,' I said," said Harry when the knight proved to be too distracted.

"But we must vanquish this beast!" said the knight.

"Oh, just open, will you?" asked Harry. Suddenly though, the notebook, filled with top secret information, was torn from his hand. The dog had taken it into his jaws.

"Oy!" Harry cried, drawing his wand, and trying to think of an appropriate spell to use to recover the notebook.

"Thief!" cried the knight.

"Oh, Harry, put your wand away," said Hermione.

"I'm not going to curse the thing," said Harry. "I just can't lose that notebook."

"He just wants your attention," said Hermione. "Go on, play with him a little, you'll see."

Harry gave a long suffering sigh, but put away his wand. "Come here boy," he said, patting his thighs. The dog started wagging his tail, and started bouncing about. He certainly looked like he wanted to play. Harry dropped to a knee. "Come here," he said again.

The dog ran away, full speed. They tried to give chase, but there was just no way for them to catch up with the thing in their current conditions.

"Oh, Harry, what are we going to do?" asked Hermione, once she had stopped retching.

"I don't know," said Harry miserably. "Make a new one, I guess."

"But what about all of the secrets in it?" asked Hermione.

"It's warded pretty well, isn't it?" asked Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry. "It's locked, and you can't read it unless you want to personally kick Voldemort's arse. The dog's just going to tear it apart as a chew toy anyway."

"I hope you're right," said Hermione. "Of all of the things for it to run off with, though."

"Why do dogs always try to spite me?" asked Harry.

!

"AND HERE YOU HAVE IT, WITCHES AND WIZARDS, HOGWART'S FIRST GAME WITH ITS STANDARDIZED BROOMS, AND WHAT FINE BROOMS THEY ARE. NIMBUS 2001S FOR THE CHASERS AND SEEKERS. COMET 590S FOR THE BEATERS. AND CLEANSWEEP 49S FOR THE KEEPERS. NOW, FIRST ON THE FIELD, WE HAVE THE RAVENCLAW TEAM, AND WHAT A LINEUP THEY HAVE THIS YEAR!"

Lee started shouting out the different names as the Ravenclaw team flew out onto the pitch. Harry watched them fly out, already perched on his broom.

"You sure you're alright?" Oliver asked him.

"For the last time, I've felt perfectly fine for two days now," Harry replied.

Wood had been furious with Harry and Angelina both for having taken the Draught of Many Tongues just one week before the Gryffindor Ravenclaw game, and had been worrying constantly.

"Just remember, whatever it takes to get that snitch," said Oliver. "We're bringing home the cup this year, remember. I don't care if you have to knock that girl off her broom."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You know I'll catch the snitch. At least, as long as I don't freeze my butt off first," said Harry, looking out over the snow covered pitch. "But I don't think Cho'll fall for a feint right after Malfoy."

"I mean it-." Wood started to say, but cut off short when Lee called them out to the pitch. "Well that's us, then." Oliver zoomed out, waving to the crowd as he did a lap of the pitch. The girls followed, then the twins, then finally Harry.

Harry was worried though, in spite of what he had said to Oliver. He still hadn't completely mastered the Patronus charm, though he had been working hard. He could hold off a single Dementor, but dozens? If Dementors swarmed the pitch, what would he do? Granted, Professor Dumbledore had his Patronus at the ready this game, soaring above the pitch, sentinel against any marauding dementors. Still, Harry couldn't help but worry.

He needn't have though; the dementors never stirred from their positions around the school. The game wound up being close, up until the snitch was caught. Cho had made the mistake of trying to mark Harry, hoping to beat him to the snitch should he spot it, but Harry beat her to it instead. They shook hands afterwards, Cho stating that she would give him a better fight the next time they flew against each other, and Harry suddenly understood the expression of "having butterflies in your stomach."

Harry did find himself feeling glad that, though his Firebolt had been returned to him, it was safely stored in the tower. It felt good knowing that he and his competition were on even footing, and the only reason Harry had won was because he had played better. Of course, flying on the Firebolt had become his favorite thing to do in his very limited spare time. Ron too had finally had his turn on the broom, along with the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team. Everyone was quite taken with it, of course. Having learned of the concerns over the anonymous sender, Oliver had taken to thanking "Inept Death Eater, Sirius Black," before taking a ride, continuing Harry and Ron's joke about the broom's origins.

Harry had intended to take the quickest of showers before heading up to the common room for the quidditch party, but wound up lingering in the blessedly warm water. He really had frozen out in the winter air. He wasn't the only one, and indeed the whole team took a while getting back to the celebration. Oliver kept hugging his teammates on the way up, talking about how he just knew that they were going to win the cup this year.

The party was loud and rowdy, and lasted past curfew. At one point, the twins disappeared for a while before coming back with a bounty of snacks and drinks. Harry was very glad that 'quidditch party' was penciled into his, Ron, and Hermione's schedules. He was devoted to training, but simple things, like a quidditch party, helped to keep him from burning out.

Harry wound up asking the twins where they had gotten their food from, and they told him about the school kitchens, below the Great Hall. The lair of the house elves. Harry knew he would be detouring there at some point. The fact that there were house elves in the castle still didn't sit right with him.

The party went on, and a good time was had by all. Even Percy was spotted laughing and being loud. Professor McGonagall had to be the one to break up the party later, sending everyone up to bed. She did so very good naturedly, still very happy with their victory, but with no leeway for letting anyone stay up any longer. Harry went to bed, himself in a very good mood.

It was an hour after lights out that Ron's screams woke Harry from a pleasant slumber. Harry's training kicked in before he could process what was going on, and he rolled out of bed, drawing his wand and a knife. It took him a second to realize he'd rolled out the wrong side of the bed, and he'd put his bed between himself and whatever was going on.

Someone else was screaming now, a man, and Harry recognized the voice from Halloween. Tightening his grips on his weapons, Harry raced to round his bed, only to have a dark blur shoot past him and out the dorm room door. And Harry suddenly had a moment of unexpected indecision, as he was torn between following after Black and going to Ron.

"Harry!" cried Ron, making the decision plain.

"Ron!" Harry cried back, running to his friend. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" He lit his wand to illuminate the dimly lit room.

"Forget me, mate," said Ron, coming into view. Indeed, he looked fine. "He didn't get you, did he?"

"What the bloody hell is going on?" asked Seamus loudly.

"Black was in the tower," Harry said urgently. "If we hurry, we can still chase after him."

Ron pointed to the door. "Neville!" he commanded.

And Neville, out of bed already from the commotion, planted himself in the doorway, crossing his arms even as he looked very uncertain. Harry gaped at this veritable mutiny, but huffed.

"Fine," he said. "No one's going after Black. We still need to let someone know."

"Know what?" came Percy's voice. "What's going on here?"

"They're saying Black was in the tower," said Seamus dubiously. "Attacked Ron."

"More like I attacked him," said Ron, suddenly looking very pleased with himself.

A look of disgusted realization flashed on Percy's face. "Are you telling me you're all up making a commotion because Ron had a dream about Sirius Black?"

"Not even," said Ron indignantly. "Look, he slashed my bed curtains." Ron pulled his curtains out so everyone could see the slashes in them.

Percy's eyes blinked wide open. "What?" he asked, but his moment of surprise was interrupted very suddenly.

"Alright! Are we starting the party again, then?" It was the twins now, with quite the growing crowd.

Ron was in his element now. "Sirius Black came looking for Harry and got my bed by mistake!"

"What?" one of the twins deadpanned.

"I woke up to him slashing my bed curtains, and then he's leaning over me, a crazed look on his face. No time to think. I just grabbed a throwing knife and launched it at him. Stabbed him somewhere. Wait, is it still stabbing if it's thrown?"

"We'll ask Hermione later," Harry says, dismissive of the question.

"Oh you did not stab Sirius Black, Ronald," said Percy, seeming to have recovered from his surprise.

"Did so!"

"Um," said Dean. "You might not have stabbed him, but you definitely grazed him." He was holding up Ron's throwing knife, slick with blood along the tip and one edge.

"Ha!" exclaimed Ron.

"No way!" exclaimed a first year.

"Why do you have a throwing knife?!" asked Percy, even as his gaze was turning to Harry.

"In case he gets attacked by Sirius Black," Harry said, as if this was obvious.

Percy gave him a very unconvinced look.

"What?" asked Harry. "You can't act like it wasn't a valid concern."

It later turned out that Sirius Black had gained entry into the common room by reading off from a list of the weeks passwords. When Professor McGonagall had asked the assembled Gryffindors who had left such a list lying around, Harry had thought of his journal, taken by that blasted dog. But that couldn't have been it…after all, Professor Dumbledore himself had warded the journal. Even if that dog were Sirius Black himself, he would never have been able to read it. _Especially_ if he were.

He still felt a little guilty, but Harry saw no point in raising his hand. There had been a tense moment when Neville had raised his own hand, before Dean had saved him by retrieving Neville's list of passwords from Neville's bedside table. No one else admitted to having lost the passwords to the tower, though Harry was certain that he and Neville hadn't been the only ones to have written them down, as often as the mad knight changed them.

Professor McGonagall still took a load of points off from Gryffindor, almost as many as they had won during the game. Fortunately, Ron won back twenty for having driven off Black. Sir Cadogan meanwhile wound up being fired from his position, for the Fat Lady would never have allowed Sirius Black in, even if he had had the password.

And somehow, life moved on.

!

"Colin, what in Merlin's name are you doing?" asked Harry.

"Oh, Harry, isn't it great? Come look at this."

Harry rounded Ron's bed to see the slash marks that had yet to be mended or removed. Harry grimaced at the sight of them, for they were stark reminder that Ron had been attacked by a psychopath just for having his bed next to Harry's.

Meanwhile, Harry wished that he had been the one to fight Black. It wasn't that he begrudged Ron his moment in the spotlight, but ever since their aborted encounter during Halloween, Harry had been itching to prove himself against Black. After all, no one knew when Voldemort was coming back. If it was going to be sooner rather than later, Harry felt that whetting his teeth on Black now would be much better than facing Voldemort having never truly fought against a grown wizard.

"This, you're taking a picture of?" asked Harry.

"I just knew that the afternoon would be the best time to get a picture of this," said Colin.

"How do you know how the light falls in my dorm?" asked Harry.

Colin ignored this question. "Do you think he'd sign the picture?" he asked.

Harry was about to tell the boy off when he stopped short. Actually, Ron would absolutely want to sign the picture.

!

Harry felt very awkward asking Professor Dumbledore for a new journal, but he needed something to keep his thoughts in.

"You _lost_ the book containing some of our most closely guarded secrets?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

Harry cringed. "Er, yeah," he said. He opened his mouth to explain about the dog, but suddenly thought better of saying something along the lines of, "a dog ate it."

"Some critter from the forbidden forest made off with it," he said instead. "We were studying out on the grounds, and didn't notice that the thing had grabbed it until it was already disappearing into the forest." Well, it wasn't _too_ far from the truth. "It's okay though, isn't it? The journal's protected really well."

"As well as it can be," said Professor Dumbledore. "Though the same could be said of Azkaban."

Harry grimmaced.

"In the future, Harry, do not take sensitive information out of the castle. It may have only been a harmless creature from the forest this time, but suffice to say, I do not want to see what mayhem Black could cause if he knew what we were up to."

"It won't happen again, sir," said Harry, relieved for the conversation to be over.

!

"Right," said Hermione as their feet thumped slower and slower as they transitioned from running to walking, "I need to delegate some things to you two. I've been meaning to for a while, but now's as good a time as any."

"Delegate?" asked Harry.

"Ron," said Hermione. "I'm going to need you to start keeping track of our work outs. I'll go over everything with you later so you can start projecting our goals."

"Wait, what?" asked Ron. "But you always do that."

Seeing the dark and stormy look on Hermione's face, Harry thought quickly and acted before Ron could say anything too dangerous.

"Expelliarmus!" he called, forcibly ejecting Ron's water bottle from his hand and pushing the other boy back.

Ron rolled to the side, drawing his wand from it's holster and casting a shield.

"Dammit, Harry!" he hollered once he had caught his breath. "While we're having a conversation?!"

"I could have been a polyjuiced death eater," said Harry loftily. "Anyway, what can I do to help?" he asked Hermione.

His friend beamed at him. "I'm half-way through the martial arts books we got. I've made detailed notes. I need you to finish it up and figure out how or if we're going to apply it to our training."

This sounded like a tall order to Harry, but he didn't think Hermione would take 'no' for an answer. Especially after all the hard work she'd been putting into their training.

"Sure thing," he said. "Should be fun, anyway, learning kung-fu or karate."

"I can write down our progress," said Ron. "I don't know if I'll be any good at projecting our future goals."

"Oh, it's basic maths," said Hermione. "You could do it before you came to Hogwarts. Besides, it's nothing that the defeater of Sirius Black can't handle."

"I didn't use maths to drive off Black," wheedled Ron.

"Oh, you just drove him off?" asked Hermione. "You didn't banish him to an abyssal netherworld then?"

"Well, I never said anything about that…" said Ron.

"No," said Harry, "though last I heard you dueled him with your wand and a knife for a good five minutes before maiming him."

"Is that…is that not what happened?" asked Ron.

Both Harry and Hermione wound up giggling.

"Alright, so maybe the events of that night have been embellished a little. It's good storytelling is all. You should have heard my great aunt Maybelle natter on about the '47 World Cup. You'd think it lasted for two days of bloody mayhem, but I looked it up; it was over in just an hour with one bloody nose."

"Well then," said Hermione, "since it's a family tradition and all, you can be our biographer when this is all over."

"Biographer?" asked Harry.

"I'm pretty sure our endeavor makes us worthy of a good biography or two," said Hermione.

"Ew," said Harry. "Don't I have enough books about me?"

"I'd be happy with just one," said Ron.

"Oh, it is not what it's cracked up to be," said Harry.

Ron shrugged. "To each their own. Of course, I'm already planning on being an international quidditch star. I'll definitely have a biography then."

"You'll have to pick a new favorite team then," said Harry.

"Oy!"

!

Harry looked at the painting dubiously, but still reached out a hand and tickled the pear. Even if it was the twins that had told him to do so, what was the worst that could happen? And there, just like the twins had said, the pear giggled and squirmed, and turned into a doorknob.

Fortifying himself, Harry opened the painting like a door, and found himself looking at what had to be the largest kitchen in the world. Harry was pretty sure it was at least as big as the Great Hall. Indeed, his eyes were drawn to five great tables that matched the ones in the Great Hall. More important than the magnitude of the room was the sheer number of house elves scurrying about. It seemed like chaos at first glance, but every single elf seemed to know exactly what was going on, and exactly what role they were playing in it. Harry was reminded of an ant hill he had observed once in Surrey, before he pushed this thought away. The house elves weren't mindless drones, they were people.

The scurrying nearest him came to a halt as the elves noticed his arrival.

"It is being the great young master Harry Potter!" he heard the whispered exclamation.

Three house elves zoomed up into position in front of him.

"How can we's be serving you, Harry Potter sir?" asked the elf in the middle.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, for he had not been expecting this in the least. The house elves were still staring up at him expectantly, so Harry said, "I just wanted to talk."

"Who can we be fetching for you?" asked the same house elf.

"Do you need to be seeing the Great Headmaster Albus Wulfric Brian Percival Dumbledore?" asked the elf on the left.

"Mitzi," admonished the elf in the middle. "The Great Albus Dumbledore has been telling the house elves to only be calling him by his first and last names!"

Mitzi looked scandalized. "Of course, but only when addressing him."

"He did not be saying when!"

"We is ignoring the Great Harry Potter!" exclaimed the elf on the right.

"No no no," said Harry hurriedly. "It's fine. I wanted to talk to you guys, actually."

"Yes, we can be doing anything for the Great Harry Potter," said the elf in the middle.

"I mean, I want to have a conversation with some of you. You three, for instance."

The three elves blink up at him in obvious confusion.

"You wish to...consult with the house elves?" asked the elf on the right.

"I told you that the Great Harry James Potter was like the Great Headmaster Albus Wulfric Brian Percival Dumbledore," Mitzi whispered very loudly to the other two.

"Can we just…sit down somewhere?" Harry asked.

Before he could draw another breath, Harry found himself seated at a small table (which was covered with an assortment of snacks and beverages), as the three elves stood on the other side, their heads only just clearing the table top.

"Um," said Harry. His first instinct was to ask them to sit down with him, but he remembered how well that had gone over with Dobby. He cleared his throat. "I just wanted to ask you guys, you know, like if you're happy."

"We is very happy to be serving the Great Harry James Potter, sir," said Mitzi.

"Dippy is also happy to be serving Harry Potter, but Dippy is also very confused about what is happening right now," said the quieter of the three.

"Manty is happy as well," said the elf that had first greeted Harry. "Manty is also wondering if Harry Potter sir is not used to house elves."

Harry nodded slowly.

"Won't the great Harry James Potter sir please be eating something?" asked Mitzi. "He must be keeping his strength up if he is to continue doing great and marvelous deeds."

Feeling unsure, Harry started gathering some food as Manty spoke.

"Harry Potter sir is not the first young wizard to ask if house elves is being okay. But house elves are always okay, if they is being serving a master."

"But Dobby wasn't," said Harry.

The three house elves shared glances.

"There is being exceptions," said Mitzi.

"Strange exceptions," said Manty.

"Very strange exceptions indeed," said Dippy.

"But you guys are happy right?" asked Harry.

"It is not a house elves job to be happy!" cried Mitzi.

"But we is very happy to be working at Hogwarts for many great witches and wizards," said Manty quickly.

"Great wizards who would run through the castle in their under clothes carrying a lowly bloody dying house elf to help!"

Harry found his breath catching in his throat. "But that was my fault," he said. "I got Dobby in trouble."

The house elves would hear nothing of it, quick to assure him that any trouble Dobby had been in was between himself and his master, who, "ought to have just sacked Dobby." This was said very nervously, and Harry could not convince them that he was not the hero of the story.

"Look, um, is there anything you guys need? Or wish was different?" he asked finally just to change the subject.

"Oh no, Harry Potter sir," said Manty. "We house elves are happy to serve at Hogwarts. We wouldn't want to be changing a thing."

"You all feel that way?" asked Harry of the other two. Mitzi and Dippy were quick to echo Manty's sentiments.

He left with a care basket of food stuffed in his arms, and the thanks of the nearby house elves pleased to have been of service. He left, not feeling good (actually, still feeling a little rotten), but still, as though he had one less thing to worry about. The house elf situation would keep…at least for now.

!

Glaring at the blond boy striding along with them on their way down to Care of Magical Creatures, Harry wondered what exactly the boy's game was lately. Malfoy was still awful, but he seemed to have changed tracks somewhat this year.

"I finally figured it out," said Malfoy.

"What?" asked Ron. "How many times you can get your nose broken in the space of a school year."

"How your family can be so awful, your own house elf hates you?" asked Harry, blazé in spite of this still being an open wound.

Just like the last time Malfoy had tried to goad Harry through civil conversation, Malfoy just ignored Ron, and acted as though Harry had said nothing offensive; his focus was on the script in his head.

"I think you'll be really interested in this Potter," Malfoy said happily.

Harry sighed exasperatedly. "I'm trying to figure out if it would be quicker to hex you or let you talk, Malfoy, so you might want to make this fast."

"Oh, we can duel any time you want, Potter. After I tell you what it is you're so ignorant about."

"Something to do with Black, I suppose," said Harry.

"You're not as dumb as I thought you were," said Malfoy. "You see, I was wondering why you haven't gone after him, and then I realized, you just don't know. Lot's of people know, actually. I guess they just don't feel you have a right to know too. But I do know, Potter, since my father told me, and I think it's a crime that you don't."

"I'm about ready to draw my wand, and you seem to have left your goons elsewhere, Malfoy."

"Have you ever heard of the fidelius charm?" asked Malfoy.

Harry glanced at his friends, who both shrugged in response. "I'm assuming you're about to tell me," he said.

"Not even the…bookworm knows," said Malfoy, his smile widening, even as he refrained from saying anything too snide about Hermione. "It's no surprise. It's powerfully advanced magic, not often in use." He gave them a big smile; a grin that could almost make him look friendly. And Harry knew in that moment, that what Malfoy had to tell him was very terrible, and it was true to the best of Malfoy's knowledge.

"The fidelius charm," Malfoy continued. "It's used to hide a secret. One important secret, in the mind of the one person you trust the most. When the fidelius charm is used, you could be staring right at the secret in question, and you wouldn't even know it. Unless the secret keeper tells you himself."

"Stop," said Hermione suddenly, sounding panicked. "Just stop!"

Malfoy's grin suddenly didn't look so friendly. "And who do you think your parents chose to keep their location secret when they went into hiding from the dark lord, Potter?"

CRUNCH

"OWW, YOU BLASTED MUDBLOOD!"

Malfoy's distress was very far in the background of Harry's mind, for he had understood in an instant what it was Malfoy had been leading him too. He was distantly aware of Ron asking him if he was okay; of Hermione, her bloodstained hand cradled against her chest as she pled with Harry to not do anything he shouldn't.

Harry turned and left, their words washing over him. It wasn't that he didn't hear them; in that moment, he just couldn't imagine that they could say anything that mattered. Right then, there was only one person that Harry very much did want to speak with.

It was three hours later that Professor Lupin found Harry in his office. It took only one look at Harry's face for Professor Lupin to be on alert.

"Harry," he asked guardedly. "What are you doing here? I'd heard that you'd missed some classes."

Harry ignored the questions, for he cared only about one thing.

"If you knew my parents," he said, "then you must have known Black too."

And surely Professor Lupin was hiding more than Black, for at Harry's pronouncement he did look pained, but he also looked to be just the slightest bit relieved that Harry hadn't said something else.

"That's right," he said. "At least, I thought I knew him. There was a time I would have said that we were the best of friends. We shared a dorm together when we were students here."

Harry held out a picture he had retrieved from his photo album. "Is this him then?" he asked. The four boys were in the picture. The same four boys that showed up so often in the album. James Potter, Remus Lupin, another boy, and, Harry was now certain, Sirius Black.

"That's him," Professor Lupin nodded. "The other boy's Peter. Peter Pettigrew. We were inseparable. Once."

"Until he betrayed them," said Harry.

"That's right," said Professor Lupin. "Until he betrayed them. Until he betrayed all of us. You should know, Harry, that other boy, Peter, he tracked Sirius down. And Sirius killed him, a fully trained wizard, along with twelve muggle bystanders."

"So that's why you didn't tell me," said Harry. "You're afraid I'll go after him too."

"Harry-."

"I get why Professor Dumbledore didn't tell me," said Harry heatedly. "And I get why Professor McGonagall didn't tell me. But _you_ should have told me. If there was anyone to tell me, it should have been you. Not Draco bloody Malfoy!"

"I'm sorry for that, at least," said Professor Lupin. "I think we knew we couldn't keep it from you forever." He sighed. "You know, there was a time when I was your Uncle Remus. Or rather, your Uncle Moony, because that's what my friend's called me, and it was a mite easier for you to say. And we all helped plan your first birthday party. I baby sat you dozens of times. And you see, I used to know what foods you liked; you actually used to prefer peas to apples, you know. You flew a broom and swam before you ever took a step, and I was there to see both. I knew when you were ready for a nap. I knew the difference between your crying for a bottle and crying because you wanted to be held. And there was a time we all thought I'd always know you, along with Peter and Sirius, if not as well as your parents.

"But that changed, of course. You were secreted away for more than a decade, and when Professor Dumbledore asked me to come teach a year at Hogwarts, I didn't know you anymore. So when the people who did told me that it was imperative that you not know of Sirius's betrayal, then yes, I bowed out to their judgement. Because while I still cared about you, Harry, just the same as I had, I didn't know you. And I still don't know what you're going to do, now that you know."

"Well that makes two of us," said Harry, breathing heavily and feeling very nearly undone. "Because I don't know what I'm going to do either."

"I'll tell you everything, if you like," said Remus. "Now, or later if you can't hear it just yet. There's a lot of good in the telling, or at least, now it's bittersweet. There's also more that will hurt to know. But if you want to know, I'll tell you."

"Everything?" asked Harry.

"Everything that's yours to know," specified Professor Lupin. "A man must have his secrets, after all."

"Tell me now then," says Harry.

Professor Lupin nodded. "I'll make us some tea. It will give me some time to organize my thoughts."

Harry took a seat at Professor Lupin's bidding, thinking of how blessed he would be if he could organize his own thoughts in the time it took Professor Lupin to make some tea.

"So," said Professor Lupin, once they were both served. "Where should I start?"

"Did I really used to call you Uncle Moony?" asked Harry, not because it was his most pressing concern, but because it was the easiest thing to ask about in that moment.

"You did," said Professor Lupin. "Actually, out of me, Peter, and Sirius, I think you had the easiest time saying my name, just because it was the simplest. 'Mama' and 'Dada' came first, of course."

"So was that like, an ironic nickname?" asked Harry. "Since you don't like the moon?"

Professor Lupin sighed. "It wasn't quite ironic at the time. We all met on the train ride to school, you know. Became as thick as thieves before we even knew it. We all sorted into Gryffindor, and then we spent the entirety of our Hogwarts careers getting into all manner of mischief together. And for a while there, we made a tradition of sneaking out on the nights of the full moon, and having a lark well after curfew…Now, of course, it's just a night where dark creatures roam about."

Harry frowned. "Has that made the patronus lessons harder?" he asked, referring of course to Professor Lupin being confronted by the full moon every time.

Professor Lupin smiled bitterly. "It's not the happy memories that make it hard," he said. "But we all have our own demons."

And then he went on to tell Harry about how he had had a lifelong medical condition, which his friends had broken the rules to help him with. This, he was vague on, but he stressed how compassionate and loyal Harry's father had been to him. He told Harry about how his dad had been an unregistered animagus. He talked about James's courtship of Lily. About their graduating from school, and joining the war effort. About Harry being born, and about Sirius being named his godfather.

"Godfather?" asked Harry, aghast. It was one thing to know that his parents had trusted Black, but to name him Harry's godfather? It just made everything so much more twisted.

"I don't know if I have conveyed to you just how close they were. When Sirius ran away from home, it was James he went to, and James's family who took him in. There were people who mistook them for brothers, and there was such a trust and love between them that they may as well have been. And I'm sure you wonder, as I do, why he betrayed us. How he could seem to love you and your parents, and then do what he did. And I don't know what to tell you."

Harry sniffled, taking in a deep breath. "You must have some idea," he said.

"The fidelius charm makes it so that you can't be forced to tell the secret through veritaserum or the imperious. I thought at first that it had been tortured out of him, but then of course, he killed Peter, and all those bystanders. I came to accept that he betrayed you freely.

"One thing you need to know is that Sirius came from a dark family. His brother was a death eater, even. But for as long as I had known him, Sirius had turned his back on his family's beliefs. Well…I'm not saying he didn't have some toxic beliefs when he first came to Hogwarts. I don't think it's possible to live your whole life with people like that and not believe as they do to an extent. But I think Sirius knew from a young age that his parents and his aunts and uncles were not good people. I think he was so very ready to challenge those beliefs. And he did."

"Then why?" asked Harry.

"There's those who think it was a long game for him," said Remus. "That his parents had raised him to infiltrate the social circles of their political enemies. That when Voldemort rose to power, it only made sense for him to maintain the ruse to infiltrate the forces against Voldemort."

"What do you think?" asked Harry.

"It would be easier to believe it," said Professor Lupin. "Easier to write him off as never having been my friend in the first place. Sometimes I even do. But generally, I can't believe it. I can't believe that the boy I once knew never existed. I think that, no matter how terrible they may have been to him, it's hard to truly turn your back on the people that raised you. I think that when things truly became deadly, Sirius started thinking about who he wanted to survive, and I think he picked the people who despised him; who he hated everything about. He chose the water of the womb over the blood of the covenant."

Harry blinked at that, for he had never quite heard the phrase turned in such a way. Generally, it was used in just the opposite manner.

Professor Lupin took a moment to compose himself. "It's just supposition of course, but I think he tried to go home, and they demanded a sacrifice from him. And when everything went wrong, he got more and more desperate. I don't know why he's after you, Harry. I truly don't. I think he did love you once, and he had a perfect opportunity to kill you that halloween night; he was there afterwards, when Hagrid pulled you from the wreckage of your home. Perhaps it's like they say, and he went truly mad in Azkaban, if he wasn't already. I don't expect he ever loved Voldemort. I can think of nothing but pure madness that would drive him to come after you, rather than flee the dementors that wish to eat his soul."

"You sound like you still care about him," said Harry, almost accusingly.

"Suffice it to say, Harry, that I am a very conflicted man. Perhaps he does deserve pity. But I want him back in Azkaban where he belongs. He destroyed too much to deserve anything else."

"And you don't think he deserves to die, for what he did?" asked Harry.

"Would you kill him, Harry?" asked Professor Lupin. There was no judgement in his voice. Only weariness.

"Maybe," said Harry, defensive still. "Wouldn't you? If he was standing right in front of you, right now, wouldn't you want revenge?"

"I don't know," said Professor Lupin, smiling grimly. "I feel like I could do just about anything, and I wouldn't know until after I'd done it. But you know, Harry, there's more to being a Gryffindor than running around dispensing your own personal justice."

"So what? Is this some Star Wars BS where I have to stop him, but not because I'm angry with him?"

"I think you've missed the part where absolutely no one wants you to try to stop him."

"Draco Malfoy wants me to try," Harry muttered.

"Oh, well if Draco Malfoy wants you to, then by all means. Shall I polish your sword and armor before you leave? I ask only because you'll want the Daily Prophet to get a good picture of your corpse to run on the front page."

"Who says he'd kill me?" asked Harry. "I've faced worse. And I've been training, you know, while he's been wasting away in Azkaban for the last dozen years."

"Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban after wasting away for a dozen years," said Professor Lupin sharply. "He has infiltrated Hogwarts, the most heavily secured building in all of the United Kingdom, twice, since then. Please tell me you are not banking on him being out of form.

"I'm not going to tell you that you don't have the right to want revenge against the man who betrayed your parents, Harry. But as their friend, I will tell you that after they sacrificed their lives so that you could live, you do not have the right to throw that life away!"

"I know!" shouted Harry, who felt very guilty already about their sacrifice. "I know that I can't go after Black. I still don't know what I'd do, given the chance." Stalking towards the door, Harry took a deep breath before finishing what he had to say to Professor Lupin. "But I know I can't lay my life down at Black's feet." He opened the door and walked out. "Even if there'll come a time when all that's left is to throw it away."

!

There were those who thought that Minerva McGonagall believed tea and biscuits to be a cure-all problem-solver. There wasn't a troubled teenaged Gryffindor who hadn't had tea and biscuits proffered to them in her office. But it wasn't that she thought they fixed anything. She just thought that when trials of adolescence were doing their best to drive a youth spare, taking the time to sit with a cup of tea could at least help soothe the soul for a little while at least.

"I'm not going to do anything stupid," said the troubled teen sitting across from her with a steaming cup of tea in front of him.

"I seem to recall you saying similar things before," said Minerva.

"Yeah, well, I mean it this time," said Harry.

"I would not blame you if you did not," said Minerva. She doubted very much if she would have said as much to any other student. As a teacher, it was her job to make clear that she expected their best efforts for perfection. But Harry wasn't just another one of her students.

"What, really?" asked Harry.

"Your family was the worst affected," said Minerva. "But they were not the only ones betrayed by Black. Suffice it to say, I have not forgiven him the terrible damage he has wrought. But wanting something and doing something are two very different things."

"Yeah, well, like I said, I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'll stay at school. I won't look for him."

"I notice you're saying nothing about what you would do if you found him before you suddenly," said Minerva, wishing very much that she could send the boy once more to some remote part of the world, away from Black.

"Well what would you do?" asked Harry.

"Apprehend him," said Minerva, "and let Albus make further arrangements for his transport back to Azkaban.

"You think you could?" asked Harry, and Minerva mentally chided herself for leaving the boy in any doubt about who would come out the victor if she and Sirius Black were to duel.

"Suffice it to say that though he was an accomplished student, he never did surpass his teacher," said Minerva.

"Can transfiguration be used in battle then?" asked Harry.

"By those with enough talent," said Minerva. "Most stick to curses and hexes."

She could see the boy file that information away, perhaps resolving to pay more attention to his transfiguration homework.

She sighed. "I imagine that anger is only the tip of the iceberg to your feelings about what you have learned, Harry."

The boy shrugged.

"Just know that you are not alone in this," finished Minerva.

"I know I'm not," the boy muttered into his tea. "Though…right now I'd like to be."

"Fair enough," said Minerva. "But do have a busicuit first."

!

Ron felt as though he had been holding his breath ever since Malfoy had spilled the beans about Sirius Black. There had been those initial few hours where Harry had disappeared that Ron was afraid that _something_ was going to happen, but nothing had. Oh, Malfoy had tried to say that Harry had broken his nose again, but with no witnesses to back him up, and no signs that Harry's hand had broken anyone's nose, the git hadn't been able get Harry into trouble. It was fortunate that Malfoy hadn't wanted to say that a girl had broken his nose, since Hermione had been seen by a few people icing her hand afterward.

But Harry had come back, and he hadn't done anything crazy yet, but still, it was like waiting for the other shoe to fall. Harry wasn't ranting or raving, or going up to the astronomy tower for solitude. But he was different, and Ron didn't know what to do. There was an intensity to him that worried Ron.

Things had actually been going really well that year. Black and the dementors had been an annoyance, to be sure. But no one had been hurt. Meanwhile, Harry wasn't pulling stupid stunts anymore, their grades were the highest they had ever been, and to tell the truth, Ron had never felt so healthy or strong. As crazy as it may sound, Ron felt pretty pumped up about the whole training to kill Voldemort thing. They were a big part of something special, something none of his brother's could lay claim to first.

Then when Sirius Black had attacked, and after Ron's initial freaking out, it had been like a second Christmas. Ron had fought the man off and become the hero of Hogwarts, for a short while at least. Even Percy was proud of him! At least, he had been before Ron told him Scabbers was missing.

"Careful Hermione, wouldn't want him to make off with your whole book bag."

Harry was actually glowering at the dog, as though the overgrown puppy had set out to spite him.

"Oh, I take back what I said last time," said Hermione. "If he goes for my book bag, I'm stunning him."

Ron chuckled. "Hell hath no fury like Hermione scorned," he said.

Hermione blushed at Ron's oblique reference to her assault on Malfoy.

"How much longer should we sit still?" asked Harry.

"Two more minutes," said Hermione.

"Merlin, I'm freezing," said Ron, who's fingers had gone numb. They were sitting in the snow, without their cloaks. His mum would have a conniption if she saw them.

"That is the point," said Hermione.

"I blame you, Harry," said Ron.

"Oh yeah?" asked Harry. "No hot chocolate for you then." He clutched at his own bag, which had a thermos of the blessedly hot beverage. "And Hermione's the one cheating, anyway."

"I'm not cheating!" objected Hermione.

"Oh, so that's not a big fluffy space heater then?" asked Ron, and indeed, Hermione was hugging the big smelly dog a little closer than she likely otherwise would have.

Hermione huffed and let it go. "This _is_ all Harry's fault," she said.

"It was your idea!" said Harry indignantly.

"I have lots of ideas!" objected Hermione. "You're the one who said we had to do it."

"You'll thank me when you're fighting death eaters in a snow storm," said Harry.

"Oh, what stupid thing are you nut jobs doing now?" asked one of the twins, who's crunching footsteps had been announcing his approach for the last half minute.

Ron couldn't say anything; it _was_ crazy.

"Combat conditioning," said Harry, his teeth now chattering. "All the training in the world is useless if you're in a fight that's left you too numb to work your wand."

"Oh, are you an expert at working your wand then, Harry?" asked the other twin, who's jumper said he was George.

Hermione, either oblivious to the innuendo or uncaring, huffed and said. "Do either of you have one of your wet-start firecrackers?"

"Yeah, sure," said the twin who's jumper said he was Fred.

"Then make yourself useful and set it off in a few seconds," said Hermione. She turned to Ron and Harry. "You know what to do."

The twins looked like they were going to take the mickey out of them, but Maybe Fred took out a wet start firecracker while the trio turned their backs to them. Ron steeled himself.

!CRACK!

The dog started barking as the three of them sprung into action. From their seated positions on the ground, they sprung to the side, wands coming to bear to cast shield charms. Running four paces, they turned and cast tripping jinxes at a small boulder a few meters away.

Or at least, that's what they tried to do.

The twins were howling with laughter.

"Bravo!" cried Maybe George.

"I feel safer already," said Maybe Fred.

"That's the whole point," said Harry, his teeth chattering. "Practice makes perfect…and we've never practiced before."

"And what does frostbite make?" asked Maybe George.

"A trip to Madam Pomfrey," said Harry with a shrug.

Ron considered that Harry might still be crazy after all.

"As long as you're here," said Ron. "You still have a way to track people in the castle?"

"Maybe," said Maybe George.

"Does it work on animals?" asked Ron.

"Not even pets," said Maybe Fred. "Or we'd have already looked for Scabbers."

Ron huffed.

"Face it Ron," said Maybe Fred in what he likely thought to be a comforting tone of voice. "He probably crawled off to some hidy-hole somewhere and snuffed it."

"That's if Mrs. Norris didn't get him," said Maybe George.

"We're holding out hope," said Harry sportively.

Ron wasn't sure if Harry meant it or not, but if he did then he was the only one. Ron was pretty sure he'd never see the fat lump again. He was surprised by how sad the thought made him.

But it was the thought of Harry dying that was keeping Ron up at nights. Ron had been forced to consider his friend's mortality as far back as first year, and every time he started to feel like everything was going to work out, something else happened. Be it Harry acting like a loon, someone being out to get him, or (as seemed much more common) a combination of the two.

It rather bore the point though. If sitting unprotected in the snow could possibly make a difference, then that's what they would do.

!

"Ohhh, why am I so sore?" Harry complained as he, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the Room of Requirement a week later.

"Oh, I don't know," said Hermione. "Maybe it has something to do with how you ran eleven kilometers in an hour yesterday."

"Or the four sets of thirty pushups you did," said Ron.

"Or the four sets of fifty sit-ups you did," said Hermione.

"Let's not even talk about the pull-ups," said Ron.

"Alright, alright," said Harry, blushing, trying to pinpoint just when in his life Ron and Hermione had started tag-teaming him. "Maybe I overdid it."

"Like we told you?" asked Hermione. "While you were doing it?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "What's the point of me planning out the workouts if you're just going to do your own thing?"

"Well…" said Harry.

"Just sit it out today, Harry," said Hermione. "Do some stretches, walk a lap, wave your arms about. Then work on your spell casting. There's no sense in injuring yourself."

"Isn't there, though?" asked Harry with sudden inspiration. "I mean, that's how exercise works, you said so yourself. You make micro-tears in your muscles, and they grow back stronger. If I just took a healing potion every morning…"

"I suppose you have one then?" asked Ron. "Or did you just think of this now? Got any healing potions handy?"

"No," Harry admitted. "Which is stupid by the way. We need to start carrying emergency potions around."

"Good idea," Hermione conceded. "And, I don't know, ask Madam Pomfrey about that stupid idea you just came up with. In the meantime, you're sitting out the workout today."

Harry grumbled, but he kept to a long stretching session well past the time Ron and Hermione were off running the track. The stretches were that odd kind of painful, where it just felt so satisfying to lean into a stretch even as the muscles complained. Eventually, feeling more like a worn out rubber-band, Harry set about spell work.

"Bombarda!" he cast at the spell range.

They had only just learned the spell, an explosive hex that had applications in both the mundane and in dueling. They had learned that, at a distance, the hex was more akin to a bludgeoning hex on soft targets, but that close-up it had the potential to maim an opponent. The problem being that it was dangerous to use close-up.

So Harry wanted to know just how close was too close.

"Bombarda!" he cast, denting the rock of the range floor a good ten feet away. The faintest of concussion waves passed over him an instant later.

"Bombarda!"

"Bombarda!"

He could feel it through his feet now, his hair flattened on his forehead.

"Bombarda!"

Pebbles landed at his feet, the concussion wave echoed in his chest and rattled his teeth.

"Bombarda!"

Harry landed flat on his back, coughing, trying to catch his breath.

"Harry!" he heard his friend call out to him, their foot falls thumping closer and closer.

Harry groaned and sat up. His head hurt.

"What the bloody hell was that?" asked Ron, the first to reach him.

"Mmm," said Harry. "One of the reasons we should carry healing potions."

"What were you trying to do?" asked Hermione.

"An experiment," said Harry defensively.

"An experiment?!" asked Hermione shrilly, causing Harry to grip his head in pain. "Oh, so since you want to know the best way to kill Sirius Black, you decide to blow yourself up?" asked Hermione scathingly.

"…What?" asked Harry.

"Like it's not obvious," said Hermione.

"Huh?" asked Ron before understanding dawned. "Oh."

"I'm not…I'm… I'm training to kill Voldemort," Harry justified himself.

"Is that why you're pushing yourself so hard?" asked Ron.

"So what if it is?" asked Harry, very defensive as he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.

"Harry, it is one thing to train to fight Voldemort," said Hermione. "It's another thing to set out to murder a man."

"Who said anything about murder?" asked Harry.

"Oh, I see," said Hermione, "you're just planning to put yourself in a situation where you can say it was self-defense."

"Well he's sure trying to put us in that situation himself, now isn't he?"

"You're not ready for it anyway!" cried Hermione.

"Look," said Ron. "I'm not saying Harry's not going about it in a crazy way-"

"Hey!"

"But doesn't Harry have a certain right to face Black for what he did?"

"Oh, I didn't realize Harry could execute the people who've wronged him now," said Hermione. "Should we set up a duel at high noon with Malfoy while we're at it?"

"Malfoy Senior, maybe," Harry grumbled mulishly.

"Well, that's just great," said Hermione.

"Well what's the difference, huh?" asked Harry. "I have to kill Voldemort, don't I?"

"The difference is that Voldemort is a monster!" shouted Hermione, again, not helping Harry's headache. "The difference is that you're fated for one of you to kill the other. Black is a man. An awful, terrible man, yes. An escaped criminal yes, who's wronged you so badly. But a man all the same. I'm not saying you shouldn't use every means at your disposal to defend yourself against him, Harry, but if you set out to kill him in cold blood, then how are you any better?"

"Wait, wait," said Ron heatedly. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say. Harry didn't start this. He's not out to try and kill muggleborns or take over the world."

"Ron, you're not helping," said Hermione.

"Depends on who you ask," said Harry.

"Fine," said Hermione, "you wouldn't be, 'just as bad.' But you wouldn't be the Harry Potter I know. I'll make this simple. I will not help you become a murderer."

"Oh, that's it then?" asked Harry heatedly.

"Look, guys," said Ron. "Maybe we should cool down. Get Harry to Madam Pomfrey and all that?"

Hermione stared at Harry. "This conversation isn't over," she said.

Harry huffed, but let Ron lead him away anyway. Silently he vowed as he had already vowed: the next time he saw Black would be the last.

A/N: Wow. Sorry it's been so long. Good news is, I've got myself a full time job. Bad news: it's a major time suck. Hopefully my schedule will clear up some after the new year, so I'll be able to update more often.


	20. 19 Transfiguration

Disclaimer: Harry is JK's baby, not mine. I'm just his irresponsible babysitter.

Transfiguration

Wood had been giving Harry dark looks all through practice, but he hadn't said anything yet. With things wrapping up though, it was only a matter of time.

All through the team captain's closing remarks, through equipment maintenance, through showers and changing, Harry kept glancing over at Oliver, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It wasn't that Harry had _meant_ to fly like a loon again, as he had the year before. He had just let his feelings take the handle and fly. He hadn't thought much about what he was doing until Wood gave him a quick admonishment during practice. But judging by Oliver's looks, Harry was still going to get it. Still, Harry didn't figure he could wiggle out of this one, so it was best to get it over with. Having sussed out that Oliver was waiting to get Harry on his own, Harry slowed down his own post-practice routine, letting the twins finish and leave.

This was easier said than done, of course, as the twins were usually too busy mucking about to get done in a timely fashion; but eventually, Harry was alone with Oliver. Harry sighed and cleaned the last bit of polish off of his broom before putting it away. Turning to his captain he asked, "So are you still mad?"

Oliver was only a couple paces away, and he closed the difference. Only he didn't really look all that angry anymore.

"Look, Harry, are you okay?" asked Oliver, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Harry had been ready for yelling and threats; had thought he was ready for whatever Oliver had to dish out. But he hadn't been ready for that.

"I…" said Harry, his breath hitching. He had been planning on saying that he was fine, but it was obvious he wasn't. "No," he admitted.

"It's okay if this whole Black thing is getting to you, Harry," said Wood, placing a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Yeah, but, you don't even know what the whole Black thing is," said Harry.

"Ah," said Oliver. "Always something more with you, isn't there."

Harry scoffed. "Yeah there is," he said.

"You want to talk about it?" asked Oliver.

"He- he was my godfather," said Harry. "Their best friend." Harry chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before continuing. "And he gave them to Voldemort. I just don't understand…how…"

"Crap," said Oliver. "Yeah, that's not an easy question to answer."

"I just wish I knew," said Harry. "How he could do something like that. How could anyone?"

"Some people," said Oliver, searching for words. "I don't think we'll ever know what goes on in their heads. You know, maybe he's just as mad as they say, and there was never a rhyme or a reason."

"That's not good enough!" said Harry.

"Yer right," Oliver conceded. "But I suspect that it's the best you're going to get. That man's not after you to have a conversation, and he's getting Kissed as soon as he's caught."

"Yeah?" said Harry. "Well I'm not looking to have a conversation with him either."

"Harry," said Oliver darkly. "You might remember what I said last year about anyone trying to hurt my star seeker."

"Don't tell me you're planning to make Black go through you first," said Harry askance.

"No," said Oliver darkly, "I'm saying I'll beat the shite out of you if you wind up forcing a confrontation with Black. Same goes for if I see you flying like that again. Got it?"

Okay, there was the Oliver Harry was expecting.

!

London was plenty cold in mid-February, but compared to Hogwarts, it was like stepping from the Arctic to the Caribbean.

Harry shivered and put his coat back on. Alright, so it was still bloody freezing.

"This sure looks like it used to be a nice place to live," he said to Professor Dumbledore.

"Hmm," mused Professor Dumbledore. "I dare say it was nicer than you could imagine when it was still in use," he said of the manor. "Before Tom chose it as the first place to show his mark."

Even walking up to the building from the street, Harry walked where Professor Dumbledore walked, touching nothing. They weren't sure how important this place was to Voldemort; whether it had been picked randomly by him to be a place of murder, or if it had had some other significance. But still, it was the first place that the Dark Mark had lit up London's skies, this large home in Bayswater.

"Do you sense anything, Harry?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"Like with the diadem?" asked Harry. "No. But I don't think I'll feel anything until I'm close to one."

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Keep aware of that sense. In the event that Tom managed to hide anything here beyond my own ability to detect, the feeling you receive in proximity to what we are looking for could be our only hope, short of pulling up every floorboard."

"Could he hide something so you couldn't find it?" asked Harry.

"I dare say he's tried," said Professor Dumbledore. "We shall have to assess for ourselves how successful he has been."

"Right," said Harry.

They ventured onward. Upon reaching the front doors, it took Professor Dumbledore nearly five minutes to be certain that it was safe to enter. Walking inside, Harry saw an abundance of dust, and not much else. The home had been cleared of all furnishings.

"Say, Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"Are we close to where his orphanage used to be?"

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. "It was clear across town."

"And you're sure nothing's there?" asked Harry.

"If there was," said Professor Dumbledore, "it's long gone, since before the muggles tore it down. I would not like to think what would have happened to the unlucky muggle worker who disturbed one of Tom's safe holds."

Harry frowned in thought, though those thoughts strayed to his visit to Professor Dumbledore's memory of visiting Tom in the orphanage.

"Do you think I'd have been worse off in a place like that orphanage?" Harry asked, thinking not for the first time of the parallels between himself and Riddle.

"It's hard to say," mused Professor Dumbledore as they walked down a corridor. "Certainly, it was never the best of such institutions, and few children thrive in such environments." He waved his wand at a door, shook his head, and moved on. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "It certainly didn't do Riddle any good, but I can't imagine him turning out okay with the Dursleys either."

"I do wonder at times, how he could have been steered down a different path. When it was too late."

"Have you figured anything out?" asked Harry.

"I have figured out," said Professor Dumbledore, "that little good comes from dwelling too much on 'what-ifs.'"

"Hm," said Harry.

"It is a moot point now, though," said Professor Dumbledore.

"How do you mean?" asked Harry, as professor Dumbledore began examining an open doorway.

"I mean that there haven't been any orphanages in the United Kingdom since before you were born."

Harry mouthed silent curses at the Dursleys while Dumbledore began his incantations once more. The Dursleys had always told him how lucky he had been to not be stuck in an orphanage, where all manner of terrible things would happen to him.

"There aren't any orphanages?" asked Harry after Professor Dumbledore moved on.

"That was my own question a while back. Why, there was one orphanage in Devonshire, I never did unravel the mystery of this phenomenon, but this one orphanage that every six years would send a youth to Hogwarts. Every six years, a professor would go out to explain the wizarding world to a new child at this particular orphanage, and six years later be back again. Until one year, we received no notification of a youth bound for Hogwarts from there.

"I investigated, and found that it was closed. They were all closing, as the muggles were realizing that the best place to raise a child was within a family, and not an institution, no matter how well-meaning."

"So you do think I was better off with the Dursleys," said Harry, not quite accusing.

"Not _any_ family will do," said Professor Dumbledore, sounding tired. "We never really have discussed it, have we? That I placed you there."

"It's okay," said Harry, uncomfortable. "I get that it was the safest place. Sort of…"

"Safe from Voldemort, but not safe," said Professor Dumbledore.

Harry blew heavily through his nose. "You never did say why you could make me safe at Hogwarts now, but not then."

Professor Dumbledore considered his words. "It was a matter of ethics," he replied.

"Ethics?" asked Harry askance.

"Without developments made in recent times, I could not have ethically achieved the effect."

"How though?" asked Harry. "Like what? You'd have needed a human sacrifice or something?"

"Nothing so drastic," said Professor Dumbledore. "But a third party would have paid a price."

"Oh," said Harry. "I mean, I can't blame you for that, I guess."

There was another period of silence as Professor Dumbledore examined a room. Though it was the same as any other, Harry knew that this was the one that Voldemort had murdered in. How he could be so certain, he didn't know. There were no blood stains or other damage. It was here that Professor Dumbledore spent the most time.

"My fault," said Professor Dumbledore, "was not in _trying_ to place you with the Dursleys. It was in trusting that they would come to love you as their own. In trusting that they would never dream to harm you. Because you should have been removed from them so much sooner, Harry. I had an agent there, close to Privet Drive. She told me that you were unhappy, but she could never tell me just what went on inside the house. The general sense she received was that, though less than ideal, there was no reason to jeopardize your safety by removing you."

"There was someone there?" asked Harry, feeling shocked. "Wait, why couldn't they tell? Couldn't they have spied on us magically, or something?"

"I had placed wards keeping any witch or wizard other than yourself away from Privet Drive until your eleventh birthday. Another security precaution. The agent in question was a squib."

"Huh," said Harry. "Wait, Mrs. Figg?"

"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore. "And very quickly deduced."

Harry shrugged, still trying to figure out how he felt about it. "She's just the only one who never fit in the neighborhood."

Professor Dumbledore nodded and began his incantations. Meanwhile, Harry focused on trying to feel whatever it was that he felt in the presence of Horcruxes.

But he felt nothing.

Still, Professor Dumbledore incanted, and focused, and cast his eyes about. And though Harry had seen it at least a dozen times, it was still a wonder to see the Professor in action when he was really in his element.

And yet, "There's nothing here, is there, Professor?" asked Harry.

"I don't believe there is," said Professor Dumbledore.

Harry sighed. "I thought this was a good lead."

"You mustn't be impatient, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "After all, the fact that there was nothing here does not change the fact that it _was _a good lead."

"Yeah, but at least when we didn't find anything in the Chamber of Secrets, we didn't find _nothing._"

The corners of Professor Dumbledore's mouth twitched. "I think the school has enough broomsticks for the moment, don't you, Harry?"

"Oh, you know what I mean," said Harry as they started to leave. "I just…I feel like we're spinning our wheels."

"Yet neither of us are," said Professor Dumbledore. "You are progressing well in your training, and you _did_ find a Horcrux almost entirely on your own. I am continuing my research. We have time."

"You think I'm too eager," said Harry.

"I think you've taken entirely too much of this burden upon yourself," said Professor Dumbledore, exiting the estate. "Understandable though that may be."

"Hm," Harry mused.

"And that you have other things weighing on your mind," said Professor Dumbledore, in the moment before gripping Harry's arm and apparating them to Hogsmeade.

Harry gave a deep shudder once his feet touched ground once more. He was _never_ getting used to that!

"Yeah," he said. "I might have something else on my mind."

Professor Dumbledore remained silent as they walked back towards the school, but he spoke again when they reached the castle gates..

"It does not do to dwell on vengeance, Harry," he said.

Whatever rationale Professor Dumbledore was going to give for this, Harry didn't want to hear.

"He took my parents, sir. How can I just let that go?"

"By realizing that ruining your own life for vengeance will make no one but your enemies happy," Professor Dumbledore said in an infuriatingly calm tone.

"Who says I'm going to ruin my life? Everyone's so worried I'm going to get myself killed by Black," said Harry. "But I know I need to survive to defeat Voldemort. I'm not seeking Black out, am I? So what if I want to be ready for the next time he attacks me? And so what if he doesn't walk away from it? I have to become a killer anyway."

Professor Dumbledore said nothing for a while, and Harry couldn't help but look nervously up at him.

"During the war, Harry, the Aurors were allowed to use the Unforgivable curses. They were allowed to kill instead of capture, and I cannot say that I blame them. There are those who say that it is only my prowess with magic that gives me the privilege to not take lives in battle. Perhaps they are right. Maybe it is not fair to ask it of you, but I've always hoped, that for you, Voldemort will be the one and only. That there would be no other stains on your soul when this is all finished."

"What does that even mean?" asked Harry thickly. "Stains on my soul."

"There's very little that we know about the soul, and what may happen to it after we die, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "But we do know that our actions can damage our souls just as Voldemort has done to his own through the act of murder. That is not to say that killing Voldemort must be an act of murder in your case. There is room for self-defense and more. The same cannot be said should you seek to kill Sirius Black in anger."

"So I'm just supposed to hold back when I fight him?"

"You are to fight to the utmost of your ability to defend yourself and those that you care about. You're not to do so with murder in your heart. If Sirius Back should die under those circumstances, your soul will be safe, Harry. I know you have made peace with death, but I hope you have no intention of dying with murder on your soul."

"What's it matter, if he's just going to be Kissed once he's captured?" asked Harry.

"It matters," said Professor Dumbledore, "because while you can help your own actions, you cannot affect the actions of the Ministry of Magic."

"How did you defeat Grindlewald?" Harry asked suddenly.

Professor Dumbledore sighed, perhaps wanting to continue the conversation, or perhaps lost in his own recollections.

"That is quite a long story," said Professor Dumbledore. "Our duel actually lasted for the better part of a day."

Harry was suddenly glad that Hermione had suggested that they take up running. He could not imagine the stamina needed to duel for so long.

"Did you have any special techniques though?" asked Harry.

"To answer the question that I believe that you want answered, Harry, I will tell you to play to your strengths. I have always been gifted with Transfiguration, and with charms of animation. I used such enchantments to manipulate the environment around me to my advantage, creating barriers around myself for protection, animating items to attack at my behest. These were not the totality of the spells that I cast during the duel, but I believe that they helped to give me the advantage."

Harry had already been turned on to using transfiguration just recently by Professor McGonagall. Maybe this was a sign that he should look more into it. His imagination started trying to work out how he could make use of it himself.

Professor Dumbledore went on. "As I was saying though, you should focus on your strengths. You are nimble, and light on your feet. I think you would also be able to use your environment to your advantage, though it is early to say which class of spells may work best for you in battle."

"Can I see it?" asked Harry.

"See it?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"Your duel with Grindelwald," said Harry. "And your duels with Voldemort. In your pensive, I mean."

"I can show you parts of my duel with Grindelwald," said Professor Dumbledore. "I can also show you what fights I have had with Voldemort, though I warn you that you may be unsatisfied with them. Tom has never sought a direct confrontation with me, and on those occasions that we have met in battle, he has retreated as soon as he could determine that he would not gain the upper hand."

"It's better than nothing," said Harry. "I want to know what I'm going to be up against."

"A sensible thing to do," Professor Dumbledore agreed.

"I still don't see how a duel can last so long though," said Harry. "I mean, you would have to be really evenly matched, and even then…"

"There is a reasonable explanation for it," said Professor Dumbledore.

"Are you going to share it?" asked Harry.

"No," said Professor Dumbledore, smiling down at Harry. "Think of it as a puzzle, and tell me what you have deduced after watching my memories of it."

Harry perked up. Now this sounded interesting.

!

Professor McGonagall had been reticent to sign a pass to the restricted section. Harry had thought to have Hermione ask for it, but given her current attitude, that probably wouldn't have worked out. It wasn't that she wasn't willing to help Harry train anymore, but for her, things had taken a definite defensive slant. Still, when Professor McGonagall had peered pensively at Harry over her glasses, Harry had wondered if he should have chanced Hermione anyway. But Professor McGonagall had merely pursed her lips and signed the pass, with admonishments to make sure she did not regret it.

Battle Transfiguration and Enchantment: A Guide of Exceptional Wizardry for Exceptional Wizards (and Witches!), was the lone book on the subject in the entire Hogwarts library. Harry knew this probably meant it was a wildly difficult form of combat, and that not many wizards could pull it off enough to justify more literature on the subject. And perhaps this should have discouraged him, but it didn't. He wanted to be the best; he needed to be the best. So if this was the kind of fighting exceptional wizards used, then he'd have to train to that standard.

"So, are you almost done with that?" asked Hermione.

"I'm barely a third of the way through!" Harry complained. "I told you, I'd let you have it after I'm done."

"But, wouldn't you rather I worked out-"

"You're the one who said I should be figuring out my own fighting style. That's why you gave me the martial arts books to finish."

"Fine," said Hermione. "I just really really really want to read it."

"Alright," said Harry exasperatedly. If he could put up with Ron's obsession with the Chudley Cannons, he could put up with Hermione's obsession with books. "I want to try something anyway, so you can _borrow _it."

"You're never getting it back," said Ron from the other side of the Room of Requirement, which was currently a study lounge.

"I better," said Harry. "Now, I need you to fire a hex at me." The spell he wanted to try looked hard. Harry didn't think he'd be able to get it without proper motivation.

Without missing a beat, Ron flung a stinging hex Harry's way. With a yelp, Harry dove out of the way.

"You prat!" said Harry. "I wasn't ready yet."

Ron grinned at him. "Well let me know when you're ready."

Harry brandished his wand. "Now, I'm ready."

Ron fired another stinging hex at Harry.

"Ow!" said Harry as the wall of stone he had tried to draw up from the floor came only up to his ankles and Ron's spell hit him in the solar plexus.

"Well that would have been cool if it had worked," said Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Actually, a thick enough wall could block the killing curse, according to the book."

"That makes sense, actually," said Hermione. "We'll definitely need to practice it more to make it better than just jumping out of the way."

"Actually, that gives me an idea," said Harry. "Here, Ron, this time, I'm going to run at you, and I want you to hex me."

"Yeah? Just don't run into me," said Ron.

"Not the plan," said Harry.

Harry took a starting stance and waited for Ron to give him the go-ahead. Meanwhile, the Room was changing from study room to dueling arena.

"Haven't got all day, have we?" asked Ron.

Harry charged towards Ron who sent a Jelly-legs Jinx towards Harry.

Harry again pointed his wand at the ground, but instead of trying to create a barrier, Harry raised a simple curb ahead of him. Planting his right foot firmly against it, Harry pushed off, changing trajectories rapidly to avoid the jinx. A little too rapidly though, and Harry rolled as his face approached the floor. He came up quickly, his wand pointed at Ron.

"Well, I'll give it points for style," said Ron.

Harry neglected to mention that the style had been unintentional.

"We'll need to look into whether it's practical or not," said Hermione. "Still," she glanced down at the book, "it's better than crushing your opponent to death with constructs from the earth."

"Well that's step two," said Harry.

The two of them had a staring match with each other for a short moment, while Ron looked studiously at his own notes. But as they had been avoiding another argument on the subject, the two of them simply…

"Here's your book back," said Hermione.

"Thanks," said Harry.

"I think I'll take a closer look at the animation charms later," said Hermione. "I think they have a lot of defensive potential."

"Yeah," said Harry.

They turned back towards their own work as the Room changed back to a study room.

"So you really get to see Dumbledore's duel with Grindlewald?" asked Ron eventually.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Well, parts of it anyway."

"Well yeah," said Ron. "The whole thing would take three days."

"Three days?" asked Harry.

"It did not take three day," said Hermione.

"Oh," said Ron. "Yeah, I might just be thinking about the comic book."

"How is this the first time I'm hearing about a Dumbledore comic book?" asked Harry.

"I mean, it's really old," said Ron. "It was my dad's before. I doubt they're still in circulation."

"I bet it's hilarious," said Harry.

"More hilarious than the Harry Potter comics?" asked Hermione.

"There _aren't _any Harry Potter comics, right?" Harry asked Ron.

"Hate to break it to you, mate, but Ginny almost has the whole collection."

"WHAT?!" asked Harry. "I thought the regular books were bad enough. Why does no one tell me about these things?"

"Because it's funny watching you find out about them one at a time," said Ron.

"I was a baby! What would they even be about?"

"Well they only started with you being a baby, being sent to live in the muggle world. Then they skip a few years so you can be like, a kid getting into trouble with muggles, and having to get out without breaking the Statute of Secrecy. Or you'd find a bunch of dark wizards plotting against the muggles, and you'd stop them. It was all little kids stuff, really."

"What else is there?" asked Harry. "Just tell me."

"I mean," said Ron. "Just about everything."

"Everything?" asked Harry.

"Everything," Hermione agreed. "Lavender was bragging about having all sorts of Harry Potter things when we first got here."

"What do you mean everything?" asked Harry.

"Storybooks," said Ron.

"Action figures," said Hermione.

"Dramatic posters," said Ron.

"Inspirational posters," said Hermione.

"Radio shows," said Ron.

"T-shirts," said Hermione.

"Underwear," said Ron.

"Shut. Up," said Harry. "The only Harry Potter underwear are the pairs that hold my bits in."

"Ew," said Hermione.

"Don't you wish," said Ron.

"…No…" said Harry.

"Lightning bolts on the band," said Ron, "and you'll never guess the slogan on the side."

"Don't tell me if it's boy underwear or girl underwear," said Harry, feeling a little hysterical, and not even sure which he would prefer. "Don't tell me if your sister owns any. Don't tell me if _you_ owned any."

Ron looked like Christmas had come early.

"Wait," said Harry, "if all of this exists, why haven't I seen any of it yet?"

"I think only the books are still in circulation," said Hermione.

"Nah, the underwear's still a hot item for the young wizard," said Ron. ("I said don't tell me!") "And they added a note to the letters our first year, banning Harry Potter products," said Ron.

"Oh, thank Merlin," said Harry. "Someone's been sensible about the whole thing then. Might have told me though."

"Well," said Ron. "You never asked."

"Hold on, don't they have to pay me for my likeness?" asked Harry.

"They probably are," said Hermione. "There's probably a vault in Gringotts waiting for you to turn 17."

"People really need to start telling me these things," said Harry.

"Isn't it more fun this way?" asked Ron.

"No!" said Harry, turning back to his work. "Underwear!" he muttered to himself.

Ron snickered.

!

Harry frowned as he watched Ron produce bounteous mist to ward off the dementor. It was bright and thick, and Professor Lupin was very enthusiastic about his progress. Most importantly, it was keeping the dementor fairly well at bay, though it looked like Ron was straining to keep it up. It wasn't that Harry wasn't happy for Ron, he just couldn't understand why he wasn't making similar progress. Because when it came to defense, Harry was the one leading the pack.

Yet this spell eluded Harry, and it wasn't that hard to see why. Ron and Hermione with their relatively normal childhoods had more happy memories. That was why Hermione was well on her way to a corporeal form, and Ron wasn't far behind her, while Harry was lucky to get a faint mist. Harry just hadn't had a lot of happy memories. And what happy memories did he have? Vacations and house cups?

And that was usually alright, wasn't it? Because compared to a lot of the rest of his life, those were pretty awesome. But maybe you needed more to fuel a patronus. Maybe you needed a mum tucking you in at night, or a sibling coming back from their first year at school. Or maybe you just needed to not have the specter of death hanging over you.

Harry sighed. He knew he was just being depressing, but what if he was just someone who could never cast a patronus? After all, there was a reason that they affected him so much in the first place.

"Very good," Professor Lupin was saying to Ron. "I think if you tighten up that grip, and get a better timing on the incantation, we'll start seeing a form soon."

"I've _been_ working on the timing," Ron complained.

"Well keep at it," said Professor Lupin. "Alright, Harry, you're up."

Harry stood up and walked across the room towards the practice line.

"Happy thoughts, Harry," said Professor Lupin. "You look like you're in the middle of a very unpleasant chore."

"Happy thoughts," Harry thought to himself. Well who said you couldn't manufacture one? So Harry thought of Sirius Black falling apart. Teeth falling out, hair falling out. He gave a grim smile and Professor Lupin once more unleashed the boggart turned dementor.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry cried out, and immediately felt a pain run from his heart to his hand.

"Ah!" he cried out, and dropped his wand, even as the despair began to set in. Professor Lupin intervened, throwing himself between Reese and the boggart.

"Something tells me that that wasn't quite the right sort of happy thought," said Professor Lupin.

"Maybe not," Harry conceded, picking his wand up from the floor. He caught a chocolate frog tossed his way by Ron and opened it up.

"What sort of happy thought was it?" asked Hermione.

"The wrong sort," said Harry, sheepish to say it out loud, and hoping that she would drop it. "You're up."

Hermione gave him a very skeptical look as she approached the line, and Harry didn't doubt that she already knew what sort of thought he had tried to use.

Fine, so it was a nasty thought, and it wasn't like Harry to entertain it. He just didn't know what thought he _should_ be using. Harry refused to believe that the Patronus was beyond him. If he couldn't face a dementor, then how could he face Voldemort? There had to be some way around this problem, if not a way through. Harry decided not to try to manufacture any other sorts of happy thoughts. He didn't want to find out what might happen if he manufactured the sort of happy memory a normal boy his age might imagine.

Harry was still frustrated by the time the session was through.

"So this is four times now," said Resse as they were packing up.

"Er, yeah," said Harry.

"And you still have a ways to go," said Reese.

"…I suppose," said Harry.

"Anyway, Valentines day is in a couple of days."

Harry knew exactly what the boy was after, but still, he hoped he was wrong.

"Oh, I'm not looking for a date," said Harry. "Nowhere to go, anyway."

"What? No. I've got a date. I'm throwing another social."

He wasn't wrong.

"Well I didn't agree to be your performer every time you throw a party," said Harry.

"And I didn't agree to be your boggart bait for the rest of time either. This isn't exactly pleasant for me, but you were a big hit last time."

"Why? Cause I'm your celebrity performer?" asked Harry dubiously.

"Mostly because you're good," said Reese flatly. "Creevey was popular too."

"I'm not _that_ good," said Harry.

"Well, you're good enough," said Reese. "And there's still no one else that wants to do it. You going to be there?"

"Fine," said Harry, drawing the word out.

"Good," said Reese with a bright smile, "see you there." He left quickly after that, always trying to stay in the room with the boggart as little as possible.

"Harry, you and I should talk," said Professor Lupin, when it was just the four of them left.

Again, Harry was pretty sure he knew what this was about, and he didn't want to hear it. But he didn't want to talk about not wanting to talk about it in front of his friends either.

"Alright," said Harry. "See you guys later," he said to his friends.

His friends bade him goodbye, and though Ron mostly trusted Professor Lupin these days, he still tapped his forearm, where Harry kept his wand holstered. As though Harry needed a reminder to always be on his toes.

"Look, Professor," said Harry, "if this is another talk about Sirius Black, then I have to tell you, I am literally at my limit of people wanting to talk to me about Sirius Black."

"That's good," said Professor Lupin. "I don't want to talk to you about Sirius anyway."

"You don't?" asked Harry skeptically.

"Just mash together all of the wisdom everyone's passing on to you, pretend I just summed it all up eloquently, and we can talk about what I do want to talk about."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, and let professor Lupin lead him to his desk, where he pulled out a couple of butterbeers. He gave one to Harry, who had been missing them since his last visit to Hogsmeade.

"I wanted to talk to you, Harry, because I know what it's like to grow up not thinking you have a future."

Well, it always came back to that, didn't it.

"Because you were sick?" asked Harry, wanting the conversation off of him as much as possible.

"Yes," said Professor Lupin. "I still am, actually. And I will be until the day I die"

"So that's why you miss class all the time?" asked Harry with a deep frown. And he didn't want to hear this, because he knew it wasn't a good story. Knew whatever it was would just make him sad. But he wanted to talk about himself even less. It was his own fault, for saying that stupid thing to Professor Lupin the last time they had talked.

"That's exactly why," said Professor Lupin.

"I don't get what's so secret about being sick," said Harry. "Or what my Dad could have done that was against the rules to help you."

"Your father became an unregistered animagus to help me," said Professor Lupin.

"Okay," said Harry, "now I'm really confused."

"Well if you'd just stop trying to solve the puzzle, I could tell you."

"Alright," said Harry.

"I'm a werewolf," said Professor Lupin.

Harry's mouth fell open. Professor Lupin took a sip of butterbeer, allowing the silence.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to think about that," said Harry finally.

"Well that puts you ahead of most wizards," said Professor Lupin.

"Professor Dumbledore knows?" asked Harry.

"He knew long before he hired me," said Professor Lupin.

"Why'd you tell me?" asked Harry.

"Because of what you said that night, when we talked about Black."

Harry flushed. This is what he gets for being melodramatic.

"I'm telling you, Harry, because someone should talk to you about it, and seeing as I know a little something about having a fatalistic view of my own future, it may as well be me."

"Look, I was just upset that night," said Harry.

"Harry, I've been relatively certain for a while now that a prophecy was in play Halloween night twelve years ago. Having seen your singleminded determination to train in combat, and given Professor Dumbledore's request to help you, I can only suppose that one is still in play. You don't need to confirm or deny it. But it seems clear to me that you don't expect to survive your final confrontation with Voldemort."

Harry sucked on his teeth for a moment before saying. "Professor Dumbledore doesn't think I should give up hope. And I don't think I have."

"Are you sure?" asked Professor Lupin. "There's a difference between having hope and having a realistic expectation of what may happen. And I think that a lot of people don't realize that they aren't mutually exclusive."

"What are you saying?" asked Harry.

"I'm saying that the best things in my life have only been possible because I held on to hope, even when I knew things probably wouldn't turn out for the best."

Harry's lips quirked, seemingly against his will. "No wonder you and Professor Dumbledore get along so well."

"Oh, he's much better at it than me. In fact, he's usually the one encouraging me."

An irrational part of Harry felt a selfish twinge of annoyance that he wasn't the only person so personally motivated by Professor Dumbledore. "Yeah, I can see how he would," said Harry. "So…you only transform on the night of the full moon?"

"It's a little more technical than that," said Professor Lupin, "but essentially."

"Where do you go?"

"Well, my office actually," said Professor Lupin.

"Is that safe?!" asked Harry.

Professor Lupin smiled ruefully. "How about this, for every question of yours I answer, you answer one."

Harry frowned. "There's some things I won't talk about."

"Naturally," said Professor Lupin. "I'd hardly expect you to bare your soul to your suspect defense professor."

"So…Is it safe?" asked Harry.

"It's perfectly safe with the Wolfsbane Potion that Severus makes every month," said Professor Lupin.

"You drink his potions?" asked Harry aghast.

Professor Lupin very professionally stifled a smile. "I believe it's my turn to ask a question," he said.

"Well that's not my question anyway," said Harry, since Professor Lupin had answered it before Harry had asked it, after all.

"Yes, so my question is, realistically speaking, what do you think your chances are?"

"Of defeating Voldemort, or surviving?" asked Harry.

"Both," said Professor Lupin.

Harry pursed his lips. He'd never put a number to it.

"Well, I mean, it all hinges on if Professor Dumbledore can figure out this, like, technical part."

"He's usually pretty good at that," said Professor Lupin.

That's as may be, but Professor Dumbledore had already needed to bring in professional help.

"Given that that gets figured out," said Harry, "I guess I'd give myself decent odds. I mean, I'm not planning on fighting fair, and I'm working really hard to be ready for a fight, and I'm not going to stop until he's dead. I don't know. I guess there's too many like, variables. You know? Like, what if he comes back tomorrow, or what if I wind up being rubbish at real dueling, no matter how I train. And that kind of says a lot, that so much of it is out of my hands. I mean, I'm not going to give up, but…"

"That's something you have in common with both of your parents," said Professor Lupin.

"Stubbornness?" asked Harry.

"A good trait, when well aimed," said Professor Lupin.

"So, my turn," said Harry. "My dad being an animagus, that's what you meant about him breaking the rules to help you."

"It is," said Professor Lupin. "The Wolfsbane potion did not exist then, and the transformation is very terrible, and to do it alone… as a stag, your father could safely keep me company during the night of the full moon. Which, admittedly, was very foolish of us. But it was also the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. That was actually our greatest secret, what we used to get up to on those nights, without the professors any the wiser."

"Wait, so the other two were animagi too then, you'd said they all broke the rules for you."

"First," said Professor Lupin, "I want to know if you're committed to trying to survive your last confrontation with Voldemort."

"I'd prefer surviving," said Harry, relishing the opportunity to say this so openly, "but no. I'm committed to killing Voldemort, period. Now were Black and Peter animagi too?"

"They were," said Professor Lupin. "It was…it was our biggest secret, as I said. I almost didn't tell Professor Dumbledore when I came back, but well, when Albus Dumbledore asks you if there's anything else he should know, and gives you that look, well…"

"And you didn't think_ I _should know?!" asked Harry.

"I actively thought you _shouldn't _know," said Professor Lupin. "And I won't count that question against you. Now, how long do you intend to give Professor Dumbledore for this technical issue. What if Voldemort _did_ come back tomorrow?"

"There's more to do before I can face Voldemort," said Harry with a scowl, not liking this game so much. "It'll definitely be a while before I can face him, so Dumbledore has time. So, what if I come across a fluffy bunny on campus, and try to pet it, but surprise, it's Sirius Black!"

"You should never try to pet the bunnies on the school grounds, didn't they tell you that you're first day? I think mention of the Hogwarts rabbit has even made it into muggle culture."

"You're behind the times professor. It was a month before anyone even mentioned it, since it's been over a decade since the last rabbit attack. And you haven't answered my question. "

"There are anti-animagus transformation wards up," said Professor Lupin.

"I saw Professor McGonagall transform just last month," said Harry.

"They were relaxed on the first night of the Fall term," said Professor Lupin. "Allowing anyone already within the grounds to achieve the transformation."

"Why weren't you worried about Black already being here?" asked Harry.

"Because, Sirius Black was spotted in Egypt the day before, and so there was no reason to worry. Professor Dumbledore was not interested in preventing any of his students from being capable of studying the transformation, and so after Black was spotted too far away to get back in time for the feast, that allowance was made."

"So what _is_ his other form," asked Harry.

"So, tell me what you're doing for your training," said Professor Lupin, not at all unsettled.

"Physical training, learning spells, a little combat training. We're starting martial arts. Now what's his form?"

"I don't think it would be a good idea for me to tell you that," said Professor Lupin, "and as we agreed, there are some things we won't share."

"_Why_ won't you tell me?" asked Harry.

"Because while there is no possibility of you meeting Sirius Black in his animagus form while on the school grounds, where you are supposed to be, the same cannot be said of the possibility of you seeing him in animal form past the school wards. Seeing as you actively want revenge against him, I don't think it would be wise to let you know how to spot him. I don't want you leaving the wards to confront him."

"I wouldn't," said Harry mulishly.

"Now, what spells are you learning?"

"Hm," said Harry, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"What?" asked Professor Lupin.

"Actually, I don't think it's a good idea for me to share that," said Harry. "As you said, there are some things we won't share."

"Ah, there it is," said Professor Lupin with sudden inspiration

"What?" asked Harry, his brow furrowed.

"There's at least a little bit of brat in every thirteen year old. I've been wondering where you've been hiding yours."

"You could have asked Snape," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

"_Professor_ Snape and I aren't exactly on chatting terms, if you hadn't noticed," said Professor Lupin. "Anyway, new question, have any of you had any actual martial arts instruction?"

"Nope," said Harry. "So are you saying you and my dad were brats too?"

Professor Lupin held up a finger, telling Harry to hold on a moment. He had pulled out a quill and paper from nowhere, and was writing something down. After a moment, he held the paper out.

"These students have some martial arts training. Any one of them can make sure you have some of the fundamentals down, and don't hurt yourself."

"Thanks," said Harry.

"And to answer your question, the four of us were the biggest brats in school."

Harry looked at Professor Lupin, who seemed to have more in common with Hermione than anyone else, askance.

"Uh-huh," he said, unconvincingly.

"Well, we grew out of it, mostly," said Professor Lupin, and when Harry din't look convinced, "Harry, our favorite pastime was pulling pranks on the rest of the school," said Professor Lupin.

"You're serious?" asked Harry.

"No, the mass-murderer after you is Sirius," said Professor Lupin with a very straight face.

"Alright, you were and still are a brat," said Harry.

"As I said," said Professor Lupin. He looked like he was trying not to smile _too_ much. "I hear there's more to your training regimen?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, mostly just getting lots of sleep and eating right," said Harry. "Keeping to a schedule."

"Well, you seem to have things worked out," said Professor Lupin.

"Eh, Hermione does anyway," said Harry. "So, um, how'd that whole fatalistic future thing work out for you?" asked Harry.

"Well," said Professor Lupin. "Life has its ups and downs. Mine seems to have more than the usual share of downs. But I don't regret anything."

"You don't?" asked Harry.

"I really don't," said Professor Lupin. "I meant it when I said that being hopeful has brought me all of the best things in my life. Accepting an invitation to Hogwarts, when I was certain that there was no place for a young werewolf. Befriending your father and the others, when I thought that getting close to others could only lead to heartbreak. You could look at my life, and say that things didn't work out in the end. That my friends are dead, or may as well be. But life is more than just what happens in the end. The journey to get there can be even more important, and I wouldn't trade it, the good and the bad, for a life where I had stayed home, and stayed safe."

"But it _did_ all turn to rubbish," said Harry morosely.

"Well, you're here aren't you?" asked Professor Lupin. "So I wouldn't say it _all_ turned to rubbish. You may recall, I told you before that we had had your life all planned out for you. Well, I _was_ the one who was supposed to help you with your homework."

Harry couldn't help but snort a laugh. "I don't think the plan called for you assigning it in the first place."

"Yes, well, a good plan can change to new circumstance," said Professor Lupin.

"I'll keep that in mind," said Harry. "Been doing a lot of planning."

"So, Harry, has any of this given you any thoughts on your happy memory for your Patronus?"

"It was supposed to?" asked Harry.

"I thought it might inspire something," said Professor Lupin.

"Hm," said Harry. "I suppose some happy thoughts are the wrong sort of happy," said Harry.

"I dare say, Voldemort would be hard pressed to find the right sort," said Professor Lupin. "Not to draw a comparison to your current difficulties. I think your problem with the spell has more to do with your outlook, not on a lack of the right sort of memories."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"I mean I think you see everything through the specter of a possible horrible future," said Professor Lupin.

"Oh," said Harry

"How many memories have you discarded because they have soured in the light of a future that has not yet come to pass? You should think on that," said Professor Lupin, "before our next Patronus lesson."

Harry knew that now he can leave without being rude, and stop having such an awkward conversation. He looked to his book bag by the door.

But instead he said, "Professor Lupin, what's your happy memory."

"Oh Harry, we hardly have enough time for me to tell you them all, but why don't I tell you a few?"

"Alright," said Harry, settling in.

!

"Albus, two visits in the same week, if I didn't know any better, I would think you wanted me back at Hogwarts."

"No, Horace," said Albus as Horrace Slughorn showed him to his parlor, "I think that I will continue with Severus as my potions master. He continues to apply for the defense position, but I would rather keep him in good health."

Horace frowned as he summoned the tea. "Then the rumors of a curse are no rumors."

"Indeed," said Albus. "Why, it's part of the reason that I'm here. You see, the one who placed the curse is none other than Tom Riddle."

The teapot quivered in midair as it poured tea into Albus's cup, nearly spilling over the sides.

"Is that where the curse comes from?" asked Horace, blustering. "Well, I wish you good luck in removing it. I dare say the rest of the world has started to notice that our Defense scores are dropping."

"True, true," mused Albus. "But as I said, that is part of the reason why I have come to you."

"Albus, if your curse breaker needs a wit-sharpening potion to help with the job, I'm certain that Severus could be of help to you."

"I do not think that it will be a curse breaker to remove this curse," said Albus. "No, I think it will be the defeat of Voldemort that will finally break it."

"Well then, I certainly don't see what I could have to do with it," said Horrace.

"Don't you?" asked Albus, peering over a teacup full of, he had to admit, very fine tea.

"No!" exclaimed Horrace. "I gave you the information you wanted the last time you were here, whatever use it was. I hardly know anything more that could be of help. I dare say, young Tom learned not to ask me anymore about dark magics."

"You're lying," said Albus plainly.

"Excuse me?" asked Horace, now seeming incensed. "You can't just drop into my parlor, drink my tea, and call me a liar!"

"That would certainly be true if you were better at memory manipulation, Horace, but it was shoddy work, so you will forgive me if I do not beat around the bush. The memory you gave me was a sham, and I will not be leaving without the truth."

"Well I have nothing for you!" shouted Horace. "Now I think it's time for you to leave."

"As I said," said Albus coldly, not moving from his seat. "I do not care for whatever foolishness you committed fifty years ago Horace. If you feel that I can absolve you of whatever indiscretion you committed, then consider yourself absolved, pending your cooperation. But you seem to be working under the assumption that I will take no for an answer. I assure you that I will not."

Albus stared the man down.

"He wanted seven pieces," said Horace weakly, finally. "Seven, Albus. Who could have known that such madness lurked in the boy?"

"Show me," said Albus.

!

Dear Journal,

I never thought I'd want people to care less about me. Like. Everyone thinks they have to have a big heart to heart about Sirius Black, and Hermione thinks she has to save me from myself. Then I just feel awful for being an ingrate. Used to be I'd have killed just for one person to care about me.

But next thing you know, the twins'll sit me down for a talk. That would be super weird. I hope the twins don't do that.

I'm trying to think of what I'd tell someone if our positions were reversed. Like, what would I have told Ron to do if something had happened to his parents instead? Because that's what's important. Right? If I'm not thinking straight now, then what I'd have told Ron to do in that situation is the right thing. Unless I'm thinking straight now, and wouldn't know the right thing before.

That's stupid. How can I be thinking straight when I'm not even sure what I'm thinking.

Life's stupid.

Sirius Black is stupid.

Starting to think I'm stupid.

Maybe I'm not cut out for making big decisions.

!

Harry knocked on the large front door of Hagrid's home.

"'Harry!" greeted Hagrid enthusiastically. "I wasn't expectin' yeh. Dropped by fer some tea?"

"If you'll have me," said Harry sheepishly. "Sorry for just dropping by. I just wanted to get away for a little while."

"Yer always welcome," said Hagrid. "You know that."

"Thanks," said Harry, crossing the threshold. "Um, while I'm here. Could we maybe not talk about, you-know-who…er. I mean the other you-know-who. Black. Like, at all?"

"Ahh, who wants ter talk 'bout him? Come on, I'll tell yeh all about the hydra that's been spotted deep in the forest."

"Cool," said Harry. "I stopped by the kitchens. I noticed you missed desert last night. They'd made these really nice tarts. Figured I'd pick up some left-overs." Harry held up the small package the elves had made up for him. In truth of course, Harry mostly just wanted to avoid any of Hagrid's cooking, but he wasn't going to say so himself.

"Oh, yeh found the kitchen then?" asked Hagrid as he put a kettle on.

"Just asked the twins," said Harry. "They're always willing to help me get into mischief."

"I bet they are," said Hagrid. "Now don' you be tellin' them 'bout that hydra. It might temp' them."

"I promise," said Harry with a laugh.

"We'll see how yer tarts go with these brownies," said Hagrid. "Just made them yesterday, new recipe."

"You're going to spoil me," said Harry, concealing his disappointment at his plan being foiled.

"Ah, you can break yer diet fer tea with a friend I'm sure," said Hagrid.

"Oh, I guess," said Harry. "Just don't put seconds in front of me, or I won't be able to help myself."

"Well, a growin' boy should be able to have seconds," said Hagrid.

"Maybe if there's fruit or vegetables involved," hedged Harry.

"Yer in luck!" said Hagrid victoriously. "Guess what the recipe called fer. Dried cherries."

"Well, now I _have_ to have seconds," said Harry, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

"So, it's been a while since I've seen yeh runnin'," Hagrid commented as he poured tea.

"Yeah," said Harry. "It got so cold, we found a place inside to work out."

"Ah well," said Hagrid. "I always thought the cold air did good for growing younguns."

"If you say so," said Harry. "We're outside plenty anyway."

Hagrid harrumphed. "Too much time studying inside is what I think."

"Well it's getting nicer out," said Harry. "Maybe we'll take our studying out here on a sunny day."

Hagrid looked skyward, studying clearly not being the point.

"Well, yer sure doing everyone proud, what with how serious you're takin' your studying," he said, in lieu of any further admonishment to enjoy the outdoors. "The lot of you. Gryffindor's sure giving Ravenclaw a run fer their money in your year.

Harry smiled. "I just want to do the best I can," he said.

"As long as yeh remember to have some fun along the way," said Hagrid, chiding with a smile. "An' come down for tea more often."

"I'll try," said Harry.

Hagrid served the tea. The brownies weren't particularly good, but they were surprisingly edible, and Harry did have two. Hagrid complimented the tarts, and Harry promised to pass the compliment along the next time he stopped in the kitchen. The house elves, after all, thrived on compliments.

They talked about nothing important for the hour, and true to his word, no mention was made of Black. Harry was sent off with left-over brownies for his friends, and Hagrid walked Harry back to the castle due to the late hour.

"You be careful now, yeh hear?" Hagrid admonished lastly.

"I will," promised Harry.

!

_Horcruxes_.

The word kept running around in his head like a bad aftertaste.

Sirius had grown up with stories about them. Stories about how just because you're a dark wizard, is no reason to be stupid. Stories to scare little children, because in stories about Horcruxes, _everyone _died.

Sirius hadn't actually believed that they existed. They were spoken of in the same breath as Baba Yaga and Gardoph the Profane. Sirius had nearly discounted Harry's writings as supposition by a boy who had heard the same stories, but Harry also wrote about Dumbledore's thoughts on the matter as though Dumbledore believed.

It was enough to make Sirius wish that Regulus was around. Well...he'd never stopped wishing that, not really. But now he would have an actual use for his generally useless brother. Regulus would have likely known if they were real or not, since he had made a study of the dark arts, if mostly to please their parents.

It was almost enough to make Sirius change tracks. Peter almost didn't seem so important against horcruxes. Almost. But you stomp out the python hiding in your room before you drive out the lethifold in the countryside. And Peter was a Death Eater hiding out in his godson's bedroom. Regardless, Sirius would be lying if he tried to say that he wasn't motivated by revenge.

Once the rat was dead, then Sirius could look into these Horcruxes.

But where? The only lead Sirius could think of was that Malfoy had apparently been entrusted with one, so perhaps others had been as well. Any other supposition was best done by those who knew more about Voldemort himself.

Sirius paged through Harry's notebook. He had felt guilty at first about reading what looked to be a diary, but his relief at finding a mostly impersonal journal had quickly been squashed by the actual content. Whatever the damned prophecy actually said, Sirius hoped that it was a good enough reason for getting a thirteen year old involved in hunting for horcruxes. Harry should be spending more time flying and pranking than preparing to face down a dark wizard.

Sirius supposed he wasn't exactly helping in that regard, though. Bad enough that Harry had apparently been in the dormitory on Halloween night, Sirius had gone ahead and attacked his dorm room. It's enough to give any teen a complex.

!

"I was thinking the same thing about the grappling," said Hermione. "But are you sure you don't want to spend more time on blocking?"

"Well, the point is the Death Eaters _aren't_ known for physical combat. I'm not saying we don't learn blocking, I just don't think we should spend as much time on it as we would if we were just plain learning to muggle fight. We can put a little more time into rolls and grappling."

"That's fair," said Hermione. "Ron?"

"Looks good," said Ron. "But I think we should shave some more time off of breakfast to move towards learning this stuff."

"You want to give up breakfast?" asked Harry, not just a little shocked.

"Of course not," said Ron. "But we've got a lot more time set aside for it than we need. And I think if we're going to learn this stuff, we should do a good job of it. And more time'll help with that."

"I don't have a problem with that," said Harry, who tended to eat quickly anyway.

"Oh, alright," said Hermione, who was surprisingly the reluctant one. "But not too much, we're already working hard in the mornings as it is."

"Oh, and Percy says Carmichael would be a good bet for tutoring," said Ron.

"You asked Percy for his opinion on martial arts instructors?" asked Harry.

Ron shrugged. "He's Head Boy. He pays attention to people."

"I mean, I guess," said Harry.

"Carmichael then," said Hermione. "I'm assuming we don't want to give away the secret of this room, so where should we meet? Given that he agrees to help us."

"Classroom, I guess," said Ron. "Harry, you want to ask him if he'll help?"

"Me?" asked Harry.

"Well, you got the whole celebrity thing going for you," said Ron.

"I guess," said Harry.

"Let's see if we can start by next week," said Hermione. "We don't have a lot of time before summer break."

"Well, you know they have muggle dojos all over the place," said Harry. "You two could probably enroll in one for the summer."

"We can look into it," agreed Hermione. "Professor McGonagall would probably arrange for you to be able to go to lessons over the summer if you asked. There's a floo point near my house, we could all do lesson's together."

Harry nodded. That was assuming, of course, that Black was no longer an issue.

"Anything else to discuss before I get into today's Arithmancy lesson?" asked Harry.

"I think that's it," said Hermione.

Ron shrugged.

"Right," said Harry. "So: The Transfiguration Principles and Pi."

Harry always felt sort of cool explaining Arithmancy to his friends, like he really knew what he was talking about, even though he kept on having to check his notes. He always liked learning Divination from Ron more. Ron was pretty sure Professor Trelawney was a hack, but she did teach standard divination, which was what they were looking for. Still, he made sure to sprinkle his lectures with anecdotes about the batty teacher, and Parvati and Lavender, who were enthralled with their lessons.

Hermione went last, leading them in a conversation in Ancient Egyptian. They weren't quite fluent, but they could hold their own by this point.

They were revising quietly later, when Harry finally gathered up the gumption to start a conversation he'd been mulling over in his head.

"Hey, Hermione?"

"Hm?" she asked, looking up from her homework.

"Er. Look, I just wanted to say, you know…I mean, I just don't _know_ what I'll do if I ever meet Black again… Like, who even knows if we'll ever meet again, even."

"Harry, what are you trying to say?" asked Hermione.

"I'm just. I'm trying to say, I _don't_ know anymore, what I'll do if I get the chance. Okay? Most of the people I know are telling me what I think I _should_ do is bad, so yeah. Maybe it's bad. So maybe, I won't do anything if I get the chance, or maybe I'll do something I'll regret later. I don't know. I just, I don't have any plans to do the thing you don't want me to do."

Ron was looking between the two of them, clearly wondering if he was supposed to still be there. Harry wondered when they had switched roles like that, when it came to arguing with Hermione.

"Do you really mean that?" asked Hermione.

"Well, I said it, didn't I?" muttered Harry.

"Okay, well," said Hermione. She nodded to herself. "Since we're sharing, I'll share too. I've been working on something."

"Something you've been holding back?" asked Ron.

"I…waited until things calmed down," said Hermione.

Harry decided not to be annoyed.

"So what is it?" he asked.

"Spell chaining," said Hermione.

Ron scoffed, clearly having expected something impressive. "Hermione, only amateurs duel with spell chains. Even _I_ know that."

"Yes, I had thought of that," said Hermione, clearly annoyed, and Harry relished in things looking like normal again with Ron and Hermione bickering.

"Someone want to fill me in?" asked Harry.

"Spell chaining is when you learn a set of spells that feed into each other," said Ron. "Like the end of an incantation of a hex works into the start of an incantation of a shield, the wand movement of that feeds into the start of another hex. It helps you to cast faster, and a good spell chain like, makes sense. Like, they're not just random spells that feed into each other."

"Are they terribly predictable?" asked Harry.

"Exactly!" said Ron. "Everyone knows all of the good ones. _I _know…some…of the good ones. So everyone knows what's coming."

"Is it my turn to talk now?" asked Hermione.

"No one said it wasn't," said Ron.

"They say if you string seven words together in a statement, the chances are good that no one's ever said that exact statement before."

"Ah," said Harry, "but what if you put _eight_ words together?"

"Well," said Hermione, flummoxed by the question. "Then it would be even less likely that someone would have said it before."

"Wait, so, this isn't Arithmancy?" asked Harry.

"No, it's just probability. Not everything that's math is Arithmancy, Harry."

"Alright," said Harry. "So, what are we talking about?"

"Spell chaining," said Hermione. "I'm saying we learn a new language. Off curriculum."

"Spell it out for us," said Ron.

"You put seven, or eight, words together, it's like a combination lock with seven slots, and thousands of choices for each slot. Sure, there's billions of people using the same words every day, but that's a ridiculous number of combinations."

"I can sort of see where you're going but…are you saying we learn spells as a language?" asked Harry.

"It's based in language, the words and actions have meaning. Have results. And I think we can tie it in with sign language and Latin to round things out. Plenty of people already study latin to get a better grasp on spell creation, but no one, as far as I can tell, has ever tried to learn spells as if they were a language. Though you might want to start learning Latin anyway to help with your grounding in Arithmancy. It's on the fifth year curriculum for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes both."

"So…you think if we learn spells as a language," said Ron, "and that's a big 'if', we'll be able to sling new spell chains together on the fly?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," said Hermione. "Especially with Harry wanting to use battle transfiguration and environmental manipulation in his dueling. It would be like you telling the world what you want it to do, instead of just casting individual spells."

"Would this let us make up spells?" asked Harry.

"I don't think it could hurt," said Hermione, "maybe a little like learning the Latin. But I don't think it would let you make them up on the fly, or anything. And um, I think we should study poetry. At least a little."

"Poetry?" asked Ron askance.

"Yes, poetry," said Hermione. "You can't exactly hold a conversation in spells, can you? Poetry flows in a way that normal sentences don't, we want our spells to flow the same way. What we're trying to do will be more like poetry than anything else, so we're going to study it at least a little. Is there a problem with that?"

Harry and Ron both shook their heads.

"Even if it doesn't work for spell chaining," Hermione said. "I really do think it would help us become quicker on our feet with spell casting. When we speak, our thoughts become words before we can even really think about it. We don't have to focus very hard on speaking, we do with spell casting. I want to be able to cast spells with as much ease as I talk."

"And no one's ever tried this before?" Ron still asked dubiously.

"Well, I was thinking of that as a positive thing," said Hermione. "I mean, like I was saying about Latin, the words have meaning, but we may be the first to try to speak the actual spells as a language, outside of the rituals created of old. The Draught of Many Tongues should help cement the concept of spells as a language rather than a tool in our minds."

"But will it work, is what we're asking," said Harry.

"You know, there's only one way to find out."

!

There was nothing quite like a big breakfast after a ten kilometer run. It was almost a spiritual experience.

This isn't to say that Ron liked running days. Ron hated running days. Man kind clearly wasn't meant to run long distances, Ron thought. Surely only crazy people trying to kill dark lords had any business running more than a kilometer. Ron couldn't fathom why muggles ran races, except maybe it was because they didn't have magic to get them places in the first place.

"Hey Ron," said Harry excitedly, "hold off on those pancakes, I've got something better."

"Better than pancakes?" said Ron around a mouthful of pancakes.

"Read this," said Harry, shoving the Daily Prophet in front of his face.

"Harry," said Ron miserably. "How can another ditzy article about you be better than pancakes."

"Well, it's not about me, it's by me. About you."

"What?"

"Just read it," said Harry. "Hermione helped me write it, so you know, it took forever."

"Letter to the editor?" asked Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I had a thing or two to say to them."

"Dear Editor," Ron read out loud, having swallowed his pancakes. "I wanted to make a correction regarding your article titled, "Black Trouble at Hogwarts." The article was correct that Sirius Black infiltrated the third year Gryffindor boys' dormitory. However, you were mistaken about what happened once he got there. Your article stated that I drove Black away, but Black was already running for the door by the time my feet hit the ground."

There was definitely a lot of Hermione in this, Harry didn't write like this at all.

"When Sirius Black found himself at the wrong bed, the bed of my friend Ron Weasley, he might have thought it a small mistake. But Ron woke the whole dorm and threw a handy knife at Black, drawing blood. Finding more opposition than he had expected Sirius Black made a run for it before the Professors could respond.

"So you see, Ron is the reason that Sirius Black did not find me asleep in my bed that night, and it was Ron who chased him out of the tower.

"Respectfully, Harry Potter."

Ron turned a stunned look to Harry.

"So?" asked Harry.

"You wrote that?" asked Ron.

"Hermione helped," Harry said again.

"This is really the Daily Prophet?" asked Ron.

"Yup," said Harry. "You've been saying you wanted to get your name in print."

"I didn't think you'd be the one putting it there," said Ron.

"Someone had to," said Harry. "It was really stupid when they said I did it, when you're the one who made sure Black didn't kill me in my sleep."

"Hey," said Ron, "what are awesome best friends for."

"Well, usually not that," said Harry.

"Cheers to that," said Ron. "Once was enough."

!

"Look, we already stretch in the mornings," said Ron.

"Not enough, you don't," said Carmichael. "Maybe it'll keep you from hurting yourself running, but it won't help you kick an opponent in the face."

"You can kick someone in the face?" asked Ron with a little surprise and a little awe.

Carmichael pivoted low and slowly but smoothly pushed his heel up to Ron's jaw. Then he pivoted lower and kicked above it.

"Yeah, I can," said Carmichael. "And you can't. Which is why you need to stretch more. I know you're not focusing on striking moves, but I don't know many wizards who know what to do when they're getting kicked in the face, do you?"

They were in an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor. Carmichael had transfigured mats on the floor and mirrors on the wall and proclaimed it a dojo.

"Malfoy still doesn't know what to do when he's getting punched in the face," said Harry.

"Look," said Carmichael, "I don't want to get called into McGonagall's office because you lot beat up Malfoy. You said you wanted to defend yourselves against dark wizards?"

"That's exactly what we want," said Hermione, though she was blushing. She _had_ been the last person to break Malfoy's nose.

"_Anyway,"_ said Carmichael, clearly a little annoyed at having been interrupted. "So for this stretch, we're going to be helping each other out, so let's pair up."

Stretches were painful. Making a proper fist was, well, at the least, Harry's hand didn't like holding the position. Nor was his body accustomed to the movements Carmichael had them go through repeatedly. Harry had never thought that fighting could feel so unnatural.

"Not like that! You want to break your toes? We don't kick with our toes!"

Carmichael wasn't the most patient of teachers, but he did keep them from hurting themselves. Harry was very glad that Professor Lupin had pointed Harry towards him, and glad that they had had Percy help pick him.

"Come on, basic hold breaking. Two scenarios. They grab you by your robe. They grab you by your wrist. Grabs are easy to break, you just need leverage, and if you do it right, you can make them cry like a baby. Now, most of these moves can be done non-violently, relatively speaking. Not exactly what you want when you're fighting for your life, so when you're more advanced, maybe I'll show you how to really hurt them when they think it's a good idea to grab you."

"Hurt them how?" asked Hermione.

"Break their bones, of course, once I get you hitting hard enough."

"Wait, can _you_ break bones?" asked Harry.

"Never tried," said Carmichael. "Like, for obvious reasons."

"I mean, we have healing potions," said Harry.

"Oh, not this again," said Hermione.

"What?" asked Harry. "They'd grow back stronger."

"It's bad enough you doing that with your strength training," said Ron.

"I still think you guys should try it sometime," said Harry. "It's been working."

"What's this?" asked Carmichael.

"I work out past my limits, and then drink a healing potion when everything starts hurting. It helps build muscle." Harry flexed an arm, which was noticeably more defined than Ron's.

"Really?" asked Carmichael, looking impressed.

"See, he thinks it's a good idea," said Harry, although, if he were honest with himself, the look in Carmichael's eyes was more akin to Percy's on Harry's first night in Hogwarts. "Mad?" Percy had asked of Professor Dumbledore. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes."

"Sounds a bit like what really serious martial artists do. They don't full on break their bones, since they're not crazy. But they do put tiny fractures in like, their arms, and their knuckles, so they heal up stronger.

"See," said Harry.

"Let's not break any bones today," said Hermione. "Please, Harry? No broken bones."

"Fine," said Harry, long sufferingly. "No broken bones."

"Anyway, Potter, hold out your arm."

Harry shrugged and did so. Carmichael reached out and grabbed it in a tight grip, any harder, and it would have been painful.

"Now get away from me," said Carmichael.

Harry tried to wrench his arm free, but Carmichael's grip held, and the older boy just moved in closer.

"Keep trying," said Carmichael.

Harry used his other hand to try and pull Carmichael's hand away, but after a couple moments of trying, Carmichael just forced it away.

"You're stronger than you look," he said, "stronger than most thirteen year olds. But I'm a lot bigger than you, and I'm strong too. You're not going to force your way out. Like I said, grips are easy to get out of, but only when you know what your doing. Now, make. Me. Let. Go."

Harry kicked, going for the other boys knee, but Carmichael just swept it out of the way.

"Shout at me," said Carmichael.

"What?" asked Harry.

"Shout! Come on."

"LET GO!" Harry shouted, feeling very self-conscious.

"You're supposed to be making me," said Carmichael. "You call that yelling? Say your feet are stuck to the floor, and the famed Gryffindor Lion is looking to make you it's next meal. No wand. Nothing to protect you. All you have is your voice to convince it that you're the one who's on top of the food chain. Now shout!"

And for a moment, Harry thought of Dudley. Dudley pinning him, making like Harry was some little play thing. But Harry was the lion now.

Harry roared, saying nothing.

"Good! Do that again, and hit me in the face with the palm of your hand.

Harry tried to, he roared, but Carmichael just moved his head back.

"Now, next time you do that, you're going to take the opportunity to move your arm up and out. I want the side of your hand here," he indicated with his free hand, "to roll around my arm, fingers splayed. Can you do that?"

Harry finally pulled his arm free.

"Good," said Carmichael. "Granger, you're up. Let's see whether or not Potter here is the only one who can out roar a lion."

Harry turned back to his friends. Ron's eyebrows were up by his hairline, and Hermione, she was already walking past Harry to Carmichael.

"Alright, you're a fast study," said Carmichael, "let's see if you picked it up already."

Hermione held out her arm, and Carmichael grabbed it.

Hermione roared.

!

A/N: Wow, it's been super long since I updated. Sorry about that. Started a new job, moved to a new apartment, yadayada. Anyhow, hope I have the next chapter out a lot sooner.


	21. 20 Confrontation

Disclaimer: All rights to JK Rowling. I have no affiliation with her or her publishers.

Confrontation

Sirius itched to start hunting horcruxes.

But Sirius needed to find Peter before he could join the horcrux hunt, and Peter remained elusive. Sirius should have expected it; Peter was nothing if not tenacious, and he had learned to hide his scent from Sirius when they were still in Hogwarts.

But there was one way to find him; was it stealing if it had been his in the first place? Were finders really keepers? Well, it didn't matter. Sirius was taking the map regardless. Even if he was rather pleased with where it had ended up.

!

"So we need to find three more horcruxes," Harry surmised, feeling slightly sickened after viewing Professor Slughorn's memory.

"You forget, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "Voldemort likely does not realize that he has turned you into a horcrux as well. He may create a sixth before he is finally dealt with."

"Oh, great," said Harry. "And how are we going to figure out if he has or not?"

"We will do the best we can," said Professor Dumbledore.

"But what _can_ we do to know?" asked Harry.

"Unfortunately," said Professor Dumbledore, "unless we get a windfall of information, we must assume that he has made or will make, a seventh horcrux.

"Could he make one as he is now?" Harry asked.

"I do not know," Professor Dumbledore said. "He may have had the ability while he possessed Quirinus. Now, what are your thoughts on this new information?"

Harry sighed sharply. "Well, seven's more than I'd hoped, less than I'd feared. And it's good to have a number in the first place, even if it may be off by one."

"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore, "by knowing that there is a finite number, we have gained a significant advantage in our hunt. Given that half, or nearly half, of the horcruxes have been found, we have good reason to hope. Did anything else stand out to you, Harry?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"The ring?" asked Harry.

Professor Dumbledore nodded his head. "I noticed it myself when he first began wearing it in his seventh year. It appeared to be old; an heirloom. I wondered then if he had tracked down some piece of his past."

"But where is it now?" asked Harry. "Did he keep wearing it?"

"He did not," said Professor Dumbledore. "Were we to review my memory of his return to Hogwarts, we would see that it is gone, and indeed, I have not seen it since. Nor is there any hint of a ring matching it's description anywhere that I have enquired."

"So that could be one of them, then," said Harry, "hidden away somewhere."

"Perhaps," said Professor Dumbledore with a nod. "Have you had any thoughts on what else he may have used?"

"Well," said Harry, "I've thought that if he could have found Gryffindor's sword, he'd have liked turning it into a horcrux, like he did with Ravenclaw's diadem. Good thing it was in the hat."

"Hm? No, the hat merely summons the sword, which had been missing for well over a century before you yourself summoned it."

"Oh," said Harry.

"Which is why it is a good thing that you have sensed nothing from it, as Tom has shown a canny ability to acquired items that belonged to the founders."

Harry perked up. "You've found something then?"

"Indeed I have. Two items disappeared, and both disappearances could be linked to Tom before he took on his persona as Voldemort. The first is the locket of Salazar Slytherin. The second is the cup of Helga Hufflepuff."

"Then...then we might just know what all the remaining horcruxes are," said Harry.

"We have good leads," said Professor Dumbledore.

"What would happen, if we destroy his horcruxes before he comes back?" asked Harry.

Professor Dumbledore took a deep breath. "I don't know," he said at last.

"You don't?" asked Harry.

"There is no literature on it," said Professor Dumbledore. "Previously, dark wizards who had created horcruxes have all been killed when they had bodies. I believe that there is a good chance that Voldemort's spirit would move on were we to destroy his horcruxes, but it is also possible that it would remain, having already passed on it's opportunity to move on. Unfortunately, death remains a great mystery."

Harry frowned. It would be nice if they could stop Voldemort before he became a problem again, but apparently there was no way of knowing. Still, no reason not to try to destroy the horcruxes before Voldemort could come back.

"Do we know what he was trying to turn into a horcrux on the night he attacked Godric's Hollow?"

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. "The Unspeakables did find fragments of something they could not identify, made with crystal and gold, but the rebound that destroyed a part of your house also destroyed the item beyond any recognition. That may have been it, but I fear we will never know."

"Oh," said Harry. "So, um, is Mr. Mital coming back this Summer?"

"He will be," said Professor Dumbledore. "He does not remember why, but he is currently doing some research that we hope will prove relevant. Come this Summer, we hope to have a viable plan to destroy the horcrux within the diadem."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I um, still haven't given up hope. But I'm not going to raise them, either."

"I suppose I cannot ask for more," said Professor Dumbledore.

"Now we just need to figure out where, now that we've got an idea of what," said Harry, changing the subject back to the hunt.

"And what thoughts have you had on the matter?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

Harry shrugged. "I just keep coming back to places important to Voldemort, and trusted Death Eaters. I think you'll do better at figuring out any places important to Voldemort though. As for the Death Eaters, I guess ones like the Lestranges or Dolohov."

"Alas, their possessions are either in hidden manors or Gringotts vaults."

"You're the Chief Warlock," said Harry. "Can't you get access to their vaults?"

"Not without starting another Goblin War," said Professor Dumbledore.

"So this might end in a bank heist then," said Harry.

Professor Dumbledore peered down at him. "You sound a little _too_ eager for that, Harry."

!

Peter had relished for all of two days in his newfound freedom, following his running away from the Weasley boy.

He had forgotten how much more miserable it was living as a rat _without _someone taking care of you. He didn't dare transform or leave. Who knew what wards were up these days. They could alert the headmaster or keep him from returning. Meanwhile, he had to stay at the school. One day. One day, Voldemort would return, and when he did, Peter would be useful to him. It was the only way for Peter to survive.

His initial panicked thought had been to just find a place to hole up in in the castle, to just wait until Voldemort returned, scavenging for food. But given time to reflect, he had remembered that access to the castle was only so useful in and of itself. Peter had always been in his element as an information gatherer. And he couldn't do that in some dark corner of the castle.

Sure, it wasn't as though he had been doing a good job of it before hand. It wasn't his fault that the Weasley boy always left him cooped up in the dormitory or the common room though. They never discussed anything important there! Peter knew he was missing _something_ big about Harry, he had cottoned on to that much, but he didn't know _what_. He was as good as dead if he didn't have anything for Voldemort by the time the Dark Lord returned. Especially not if Snape was loyal.

Peter needed to actually do what he had set out to do, and spy. No more waiting to be in the right place at the right time. No more hiding. It was time to stalk those kids and be there when they actually talked about something important.

But first, he was going to take a break. He deserved a break. Even if it was just a vacation in a mouse hole in the kitchen.

!

Harry stepped back from the pensive, breathing heavily, as he came back to reality.

"This is your second excursion into my memories of my fight with Grindelwald," said Professor Dumbledore. "Have you solved the mystery of how it lasted for so long."

"It..." Harry paused to catch his breath. The battle had been intense. "Nothing could get past his defenses, but...they should have."

"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore.

"I mean, you could tell that you're the better duelist. You should have been able to get past his defenses."

"And so what do you deduce from that?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"He had some sort of trick. Maybe like, was his cloak charmed to protect him?"

"Oh, nothing so mundane," said Professor Dumbledore.

"But I'm right that he had _something_," said Harry.

"You are," said Professor Dumbledore.

"So he had something you couldn't get past. And he wasn't strong enough to get past your defenses."

"So how do you believe a stalemate like that could end in a decisive victory for myself?"

"I guess you'd fight till one of you collapsed from exhaustion," said Harry.

"You think so?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"You had Fawkes," said Harry. "His singing gave you energy, but not Grindelwald."

"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore. "But the fight lasted far too long for Grindelwald to continue unaided. In his case, he was draining the life from his sworn followers as we fought. It was only after they had all perished that Grindelwald collapsed from exhaustion."

"Is that something Voldemort can do?" asked Harry.

"I do not believe so," said Professor Dumbledore. "That was a thing of Gellert's own creation. A secret that he took with him to Nurmengard, where he has no visitors."

!

Given a couple of days to think on it, Harry had realized that no, he really didn't want to break his bones. At least, not as he had been thinking during their first training session with Carmichael. But there were legitimate ways to do what Harry had thought of, and Harry had compromised down to a couple of them.

He still used the healing potion. Strengthening your bones hurt plenty, and Harry had no need to go through the day with micro fractures in them.

It was a simple practice of rolling a metal rod up and down his shins, and practicing kicks and punches against an only lightly padded surface. It smarted, but it was easily tolerable. And with healing potions, he could do it more often. Harry had even gotten Ron and Hermione to do it a couple times, but like with the muscle training, they were not so enthusiastic about it. Harry figured they'd get on board once the results became more obvious.

Harry did wonder sometimes, just what it would feel like to defeat Voldemort by punching his face in.

But any plan that ended with Harry punching Voldemort in the face was probably a stupid plan, which was why Harry was putting more effort into learning, "the language of spells," which Hermione was basically just making up as they went along.

"No proper grammar," Hermione could be heard muttering on more than one occasion. "You would think that would make this easier." She could be seen now and then pouring over books about poetry.

Again, Harry and Ron had been delegated to, this time to compile lexicons of all of the spells that they knew, all the spells that they hadn't bothered learning but were ridiculously easy, all variations on shield spells, all the basic dueling spells and their variations, and all the spells that could conceivably be useful for battle. This was to be the lexicon they would learn from. They were making flash cards in their spare time. A seventh year had charmed the cards to have three sides: one with the spell's purpose, one with the incantation, and one with the wand movements.

Somehow, they were also making time to study Latin and British Sign Language. Hermione was the only one now still studying Old and New Futhark and Ancient Egyptian, as Harry and Ron had gained the basic comprehension that they had been aiming for, which did aid them in finding old and esoteric spells to add to the lexicon; spells that were in books magically sealed from being copied into _any_ language, let alone another. During their study sessions, Hermione now started explaining the language she was creating for her portion of the lessons, which Harry only hoped would make more sense when they had taken the Draught of Many Tongues.

Somehow in the midst of all this, Harry still found time for Quidditch, though he found himself more nervous about it than he could remember being since his first year. Maybe because of the pressure, this game determining whether or not Oliver would leave Hogwarts with the Quidditch Cup to his name. Or maybe it was the multitude of stressors in his life being funneled into the sport.

"You okay there Harry," asked George, checking in on him before the big game.

"Er, yeah," said Harry. "Um, hey, would you tell me if…you don't think I've just won before, because I had the better broom, do you?"

"Say what now?" asked Fred, joining his brother from the other side of the locker room.

"Just saying..."

"What?" asked George. "You beat Malfoy when Malfoy had the better broom. You beat Chang on even brooms."

"That's because Malfoy sucks," said Harry, "and Chang made the mistake of marking me, instead of chasing the snitch herself."

"Harry, you make flying a Firebolt look easy," said Fred.

"You outflew a charmed bludger," said George.

"Mostly," said Fred.

"Mostly," repeated George.

"So you guys think I'm just being stupid?" asked Harry.

"Pretty stupid," said Fred.

"Stupidest bloke, we know," George agreed.

"Gee, thanks," said Harry.

"Places, everyone, places!" shouted Oliver as he stormed into the locker room. "The girls are ready. The game's about to start. Come on!"

"Don't get your nickers in a twist," said Fred, rolling his eyes.

"Come on!" said Oliver urgently. He led Harry out, a hand on his shoulder.

"Remember, Harry," he said. "We need to have scored four times before you catch the snitch if we're going to beat Ravenclaw for the cup. And we'll lose anyway if Hufflepuff is more than a hundred points up when you catch the snitch." Oliver had pointed this out to Harry at least a dozen times before.

"I sure hope you're not planning to let ten goals through," said George.

"Let alone fourteen," said Fred.

"That's the spirit," said Oliver, nodding to himself. He wasn't doing anything for Harry's nerves.

Harry's heart was racing as he took off to the call of his name. This was it. The game that counted for all. Oliver had taken Harry onto the team when Harry was just a first year. Harry wasn't going to let him down.

Oliver and Cedric Diggory flew up to each other and shook hands before Oliver flew to the hoops, and Cedric flew to a position opposite Harry. The chasers took their positions around Madam Hooch, ready for her to put the quaffle into play. Harry made eye contact with his competition. Cedric crossed his eyes back.

Harry stuck his tongue out before he could even think about it. Cedric grinned, and turned back to Madam Hooch, while Harry gave him a mock glare. And then the balls were in the air.

Harry tried to follow the snitch with his eyes, but even with his perfect vision, it managed to get lost within a couple of seconds.

Harry didn't like the idea of playing the points like he had to. It wasn't that he didn't understand the necessity for it, but it went against the usual strategy of search, hunt, catch. Now he had to: A. Block Cedric until they had enough points; and B. Make sure the points were just right before he caught it himself.

The way the points lay, Cedric could catch the snitch at any moment during the game, and Hufflepuff would win the cup, unless Gryffindor already had a 200 point lead.

Harry had been resisting Oliver's advice for the the game, but he saw the sense in it. Mark Cedric while they were still getting the points they needed, and block him if he went for the snitch. Having seen Cho fail with this strategy before, Harry had been reticent, but the twins were right, he was the faster flyer, even on even brooms.

Cedric noticed him after a moment.

"That didn't work so well for Cho, did it?" he called back.

"Well I'm not Cho," Harry shouted back against the wind.

Cedric took up a position high up where he could see the whole pitch. "Hey, if I beat you to the snitch, could I get a ride on that Firebolt of yours?"

"Tell you what," said Harry, "when I beat you to the snitch, I'll give you a ride as a consolation prize."

"A little cocky there, Potter?" asked Cedric.

"My team mates tell me I should be," said Harry. "And they are older and wiser."

The two of them were both a little cocky, but neither of them took their eyes from the pitch.

"Are you including the twins in that?" asked Cedric.

"Hey, they'll surprise you," said Harry.

"Surprise," said Cedric, suddenly focused.

"Huh?" asked Harry.

Cedric shot off.

Harry chased after him. He couldn't see the snitch, was this a feint?

Harry _was_ the faster flyer, and he was gaining on Cedric, who was diving now. Harry still couldn't see the snitch. Part of him was certain this was a feint, but what if it wasn't? If he intercepted Cedric too soon, and Cedric kept his eye on the snitch, Harry would be in no position to try to stop him again. He strained his eyes, trying to see what Cedric was seeing.

The ground was coming up fast now, and Harry was sticking to Cedric like glue. Harry was determined, if this was a feint, he'd follow it through. He had no other choice. He'd just have to be very careful.

They were almost at the point of no return, and Harry still couldn't see the snitch. He only had one option. Putting on as much speed as he could, Harry pulled ahead and swerved in front of Cedric. The other boy pulled up hard.

Sound returned to Harry's ears. Lee Jordan was going crazy in the commentator's box and, for a change, in a way that Professor McGonagall didn't disapprove of.

"It was getting boring, yeah?" asked Cedric.

"We're not even five minutes into the game," said Harry, though he was grinning as he tried to even out his breathing.

"Short attention span," said Cedric.

"This is fun though," said Harry. "Why's this the first time I'm flying against you?"

"You being in the hospital wing your first year, quidditch being canceled the next year. Frankly, it's a miracle we got to this point," said Cedric, starting to fly back up.

"I'll say," said Harry.

"I almost thought I wouldn't get a chance to tell my grand-kids about the time I beat Harry Potter to the snitch."

"Well, you can always try again next year," said Harry.

"I'm going to have to talk to your teammates about giving you a big head," said Cedric. "Doubt we'll get the chance next year though."

"Don't tell me you're going to quit to focus on your NEWTS," said Harry in disgust.

"You'll see," said Cedric slyly.

"If you appoint yourself Chaser next year, you'll never get to tell your grandkids about being beaten twice by Harry Potter," Harry called after him.

"Keep guessing," Cedric called back. He was taking up a search pattern now. Harry wondered if he had spooked the boy, pulling ahead of him like that. Though maybe Cedric hadn't been trying too hard, just for an early game feint.

The score was 30-20 in Hufflepuff's favor. Harry still had to play defense until Gryffindor made two more goals.

"You're not planning to have me assassinated before next year, are you?" Harry shouted after Cedric.

Cedric just waved at him over his back.

"Humph," said Harry.

The scores rose slowly as Harry followed the opposing seeker. Both teams had great chasers, and both teams also had great keepers.

Cheers came from the Gryffindor stands. 30-30.

Harry started trying to keep an eye out for the snitch as he marked Cedric. If he could spot it, and keep it in his vision, he could swoop in after it the next time there was a goal.

Cedric saw it first though.

This was the sort of chase that Harry loved. Two even brooms, and a finishing line that wouldn't stop running away from you. Only this time, Harry couldn't catch it himself.

Harry pulled even with Cedric as he heard the crack of a bat. He didn't know whose beater hit it, but there were only two targets worth aiming for at the moment, and they were right next to each other. Harry listened for the tell-tale sound and rolled over Cedric at the last second. Cedric was no slouch though, and he got out of the way as well without loosing sight of the target.

They were neck and neck, Cedric only just keeping Harry from blocking him completely. Harry kept trying to get ahead of him, to give the snitch a chance to get lost again.

Harry wasn't going to let Oliver down. If Cedric wanted the cup bad enough, he could play again next year.

Harry heard the next bludger too late, and slammed into Cedric as the bludger rammed into his side. Cedric kept the both of them from losing balance by bracing Harry on the shoulder for the second it took to orient themselves. Somehow, neither lost sight of the snitch.

Lee was shouting in the background, but for the life of him, Harry couldn't make out a thing with his focus on the snitch. At least, until he heard Lee make an exclamation that cut through the haze.

"WITH THAT GOAL, BOTH TEAMS ARE IN REACH OF THE CUP!"

Harry narrowed his eyes. This was it.

The snitch arced up, and Harry and Cedric rose after it, spiraling around each other straight up in the air, trying to get the upper hand. The snitch changed directions suddenly, racing for the ground passing over their shoulders, just out of reach.

Harry reacted just a little bit faster.

It was over two seconds later.

Harry let out a startled laugh at the snitch in his hand. He'd done it, the cup was theirs. He felt euphoria well up within him.

Harry looked over at Cedric, who had stopped not far away. The older boy had his head down, but as Harry gazed at him, Cedric picked it up again and made eye contact. Cedric nodded at him, and went to join his team. Harry turned to look for his own.

He needn't have, of course, as they were all flying to him, all looking about the same as Harry felt inside. Harry waved his snitch-clenched hand at them.

Oliver slammed into him exuberantly.

"Oof!"

"Shite," said Oliver, "you okay?"

"I think so," said Harry. "Bludger didn't have it's heart in it."

"Deep breath," Oliver commanded.

Harry took in a deep breath to humor him without a twinge of pain.

Oliver's grin found it's way back to his face and he slung an arm around Harry's shoulders.

"We did it," he said, sounding like he was going to start crying.

"Like we were going to let you down," said Harry.

Oliver really was crying now, and the whole team was there, and somehow they managed a group hug in the air. Below them, bedlam had erupted from the Gryffindor stands.

"I just worked so hard for this," Oliver explained, as he wiped away tears.

"Yeah," said Fred, "and you made us work hard for it too."

Horcruxes. Sirius Black. His lousy childhood. For a change it was all miles away from Harry's thoughts, and he was perfectly in the moment as they landed amidst a sea of cheering red trimmed students. Somehow, holding the Quidditch cup felt like the proudest moment of his life.

It was only back in the locker room that Harry knew there was a problem.

"Merlin's balls, Harry!" Oliver cried out moments after Harry pulled his quidditch robe over his head.

"Harry!" the twins echoed.

"What?" asked Harry.

The three older boys just gesticulated in the general vicinity of Harry's chest. Harry looked down and saw a large bruise blossoming on the side of his chest.

"Oh!" said Harry in surprise. He reached a hand up tentatively to poke at it.

"OW!" he said when that proved to hurt a great deal.

"Ahh!" he cried when he breathed in and it hurt so much more.

"Well, that's the shock wearing off," said Oliver dryly. "What do you say we get our quidditch star to the infirmary?" he asked the twins.

"Guess we better," said Fred, putting his own robe back on.

"Can't go more than one game without going to the hospital wing?" asked George.

"Seems like," Harry said, pushing through the pain, and starting to feel a little light headed.

"Hold still," said Oliver, who came over and helped him back into his quidditch robe for the journey up to the castle. Harry usually wouldn't be comfortable having someone help him get dressed, but he was pretty sure he'd pass out if he tried to lift his arms above his head.

"I hate broken ribs," said Harry through gritted teeth.

"Well stop getting them," said Fred.

"Easier said than done," Harry griped.

"I don't think that's true," said George.

"Okay, I seem to recall someone taking a bludger to the face last practice," said Harry.

"Shutting up, then," said George.

Angelina was in the common area tending to her broom, and it took only one glance for her to realize where they were headed.

"I thought you were fine," she said.

"So did I," said Harry.

"Can't you go more than one game without an injury, Harry?" she asked.

"That's what I said!" said George.

"And who's supposed to have protected him in the first place?" asked Angelina. She shook her head. "You take care of yourself now, Harry. I'm in the running for captain next year, and I definitely intend to have a better record than Wood for infirmary visits."

"You say that like it's my fault," Wood complained.

Angelina just gave him a look.

Madam Pomfrey tutted about when Harry arrived. He hadn't done anything stupid this time though, so she couldn't complain much past her usual comments about quidditch.

"I keep telling them, we need to switch to a lighter material for the bludgers, but do they listen to me? No! What does a nurse know about traumatic injuries? Apparently it's not a proper sport if it doesn't break your bones."

There was a tremendous party in Gryffindor later, and the team were all treated like royalty. Emotions were high, and Harry even saw Percy shedding a few tears as he beheld the Quidditch cup on the mantle.

The entirety of Gryffindor house was walking on clouds for the rest of the week, though none more so than Wood, who had stated that he could die happy now. Even Harry floated about with pride. He and his friends still kept up with their training of course, though some of the intensity had gone out of them.

As the week was rounding to a close, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves in Carmichael's dojo, practicing after the older student had left for his own studies. It was a leg day, and they were still practicing the three basic kicks on some transfigured dummies. It was also a stress day, so Harry's dummy had much less padding than Ron's and Hermione's.

"Would you quit wincing, Hermione?" asked Harry.

"I can't!" Hermione complained. "That sounds like it hurts."

"You've done it before," said Harry. "You know it's not that bad."

"It still sounds like it hurts," Hermione reiterated.

"If I can do it without wincing," said Harry, "then you don't need to wince for me."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I still think you guys should try it more often," said Harry. "I can kick a lot harder than I used to."

"Once a month is fine, I think," said Ron.

The door to the room suddenly burst open, and the three of them spun around, each one going for their wand.

But it was only the twins, standing there panting for breath.

"You guys okay?" asked George.

The trio shared a glance.

"Um, yeah?" said Ron. "You?"

Fred took a deep breath. "Someone dropped us in the corridor. We woke up stuffed in a broom closet. And…"

"Yes?" asked Hermione.

"Our map's gone," said George.

"By map, do you mean the thing you use to know where people are in the castle?" asked Harry.

"Well, yes," said Fred.

This should have been of gravest concern, but the next word out of Ron's mouth was an exclaimed, "Scabbers!"

Sure enough, the balding rat was clutched in Fred's hand, struggling to get away.

"Found him skulking outside the door here," said Fred, handing the rat to his brother.

"Okay, we should be focusing on Sirius Black probably having the means to find Harry anywhere in the school, anytime," said Hermione.

"We don't know it's Black," said Fred, as George chimed in.

"The map's not even activated, we'd just cleared it when we were attacked."

"Yeah, let's not underestimate Black," said Ron, as he checked over the still squirming rat."

"We need to get the professors," said Hermione.

"Well let's not be hasty," said Fred. "Like we said, it's useless now, and Black might not even be the one who took it."

Hermione just glared at the twins.

"Now hold on," said Harry. "This could be a perfect opportunity to set up a trap for Black."

Harry was roundly ignored.

"We're going to the professor's and that's final," said Hermione.

Very suddenly, Fred slumped to the floor. Everyone was drawing their wands again as George accompanied him a moment later.

A stunning hex flashed out, but it splashed harmlessly against Harry's shield. The trio stood their ground as Sirius Black walked through the door.

"It's time to die, rat," said the man with a raspy voice. He looked just like the picture on the wanted poster, only now even skinnier, his clothing more ragged.

There was no further conversation, with that said, the battle was on.

Harry fired first, sending an explosive hex at Black's feet. He had hoped to blast the man back, or at least pepper him with bits of the floor, but with the faintest of movements, Black was shielded from both the concussion and the shrapnel.

And Black stayed on the defensive, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione slung spell after spell at the man. Cutting curses, bone breaking hexes, exploding curses. Harry threw his worst at Black.

Except, there was no question that it was easy for the man. Everyone had warned Harry about Black's skill, but it was another thing to behold it. Skeletal thin, looking half-crazed, he was still light on his feet as he deftly moved about the battle.

Harry needed a new angle, they were all lined up against Black, making it easier for him. Harry ran, trying to skirt the room. Pointing his wand at the floor, he transfigured three large steps, the third nearly two meters high. He'd see if Black could block from straight ahead, and above to the side.

Only as Harry was leaping from the second to the third step, Black slashed his wand out and canceled the transfiguration, overpowering Harry's magic, and Harry fell to the floor. But he rolled, and came up still on the offensive, sending spells at Black's side.

Black decided to change things up after a minute of endless blocking, and he levitated the twins between himself and the trio.

"Really," he rasped out at them in the lull of the battle, "I think we should talk about this."

"Accio twins!" Ron shouted.

The twins must have weighed at least twenty stone together, and Black was definitely the stronger wizard, but perhaps as their brother, Ron had a stronger claim on them, for the two older boys flew right at him. The three went down in a tangle as Harry and Hermione started firing again.

And then it was five of them, as Ron had enervated the twins. For a moment, it looked as though they were about to gain the upper hand, Black's defensive no longer looking so easy, but Black held up a hand and snapped his fingers.

Fred and George both slumped once more to the ground. Standing between them, Ron took just a moment too long to process this, and was suddenly petrified with a faint yellow light, his wand summoned.

After that, Black turned on Harry, and even as he was blocking Hermione's spells, it took him all of five seconds to disarm Harry. Hermione took the opportunity though, as Black was catching Harry's wand, to free Ron, a moment before she lost her own wand.

So there the three of them were, breathing hard, as Sirius Black held them at wand point. A sickening dread snaked through Harry but the dominant emotion was anger.

"The repeating nock out hex," said Black, almost conversationally, presumably of the spell that had nocked out the twins. "It's a good one to know."

"You're here to kill me, then?" Harry finally spoke up, his head held high. He approached the mad man. "Here to kill your godson?"

"Harry, what are you doing?" asked Ron in alarm from the floor.

All Hermione could get out was a breathless, "Harry!"

"Stay back," said Harry still approaching Black. "Only one person needs to die this time."

"One person," said Black, just as out of breath as the rest of them, his wand trained on Harry. "Yes. But not you. I've come to kill someone else."

Harry saw red. And because he was close enough, because he was wandless, Harry pivoted and slammed a round-house kick into the side Black's ribcage, left exposed so that Black could point his wand.

Black's stunning hex flew an inch over Harry's ear. Harry didn't bother bringing his foot back down, instead he shifted, brought his knee back and plunged his heel into Black's sternum.

Black fell onto his back with a cry, the three captured wands flying out of his hand. Harry was pretty sure he'd broken some ribs. He didn't sympathize.

"You don't understand," the man croaked out.

Still wandless, Harry leapt onto the man and grabbed him by the front of his robe. He started punching his godfather in the face with a wordless snarl. Harry didn't care about what he didn't understand. No one got to threaten his friends.

"IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" he finally shouted at the man, pausing only a moment from his attack to say it.

"YOU TOOK EVERYTHING!"

"DESTROYED _EVERYTHING_ GOOD!"

"FOR WHAT?!"

Black tried to bring his wand to bear, but Harry snatched it away from him and placed it between his teeth for safe keeping while he returned to punching the man in the face. There was blood everywhere, coming from the man's brow, nose, and mouth, as well as from Harry's own fist. It was only when Black seemed to slump insensate that Harry stopped.

"Merlin," Ron croaked, from very close by.

Harry hadn't noticed his friend's approach, and still he took no notice of them. Grasping Black's wand Harry pointed it at the man's throat. A dozen lethal spells flashed through his head. Bombarda. Diffindo. Spells of transfiguration. There were so many ways to kill a man, and all Harry had to do was point and speak.

"Stop, Harry! Please, stop," pleaded Hermione from behind him, her voice strained.

Harry took a deep breath. "He killed them," he said raggedly. "He wanted to kill one of you."

"And you stopped him," said Hermione. "Please. Let's turn him in. They'll make sure he never hurts anyone ever again."

"He killed them!" Harry cried, his emotions all over the place.

"I know," said Hermione. "Please. Please, just be the boy I made friends with, once upon a time. Don't become someone else."

"I'm already someone else," Harry said weakly.

He squeezed the wand so tightly in his fist, it must have been close to snapping. Huffing, he pushed himself off of Black, rolling to the side. He put his face in his hands, doing his best not to sob or scream.

It was Ron who screamed though, waving the hand that had moments before been keeping a death grip on Scabbers, who was now running out the door at a speed Harry would not have believed possible. And Black was not nearly so insensate as Harry had believed, because with a blurring that their eyes could not hope to make sense of, Black was on four large black paws, following after. Harry fired off a stunning hex, but Black's wand was too foreign in his hand, and he missed by near half a meter, and then Black was gone.

And Harry thought that he should be chasing after the man, should be tearing the castle apart to get him back. But his rage had left him, and without it, it was as though he had nothing left with which to fight.

"What the fuck?" he asked the universe. The universe declined an answer.

The rage was gone, but...but Black was a threat regardless.

"Grab the wands," he told his friends, and with that, he ran out, chasing, he hoped, in Black's direction.

His friends called after him. Harry hoped they'd stay put, but knew they wouldn't. He knew they'd be cross with him later, but this was finally their chance to stop Black, and Harry wasn't going to let it be bolloxed up just because he had been too angry to just stun Black.

Harry ran heedless, Black's wand clenched in his fist. Sure enough, the footfall's of his friends chased after him. Harry reached the main doors feeling like he could run forever in this chase. He'd have to thank Hermione later. Running through the doors, Harry saw the dog sprinting across the grounds. Harry ran after.

!

Given a fair stretch of land, Padfoot could outrun Wormtail any day of the week, even with his face threatening to cave in, and his ribs protesting. But Wormtail knew of all the passageways in the castle, including a few that nothing bigger than a house elf could get through.

Sirius knew the passageways himself, though he had never been through the one Peter leapt into, but he knew exactly where it let out, and he raced towards that exit. On the edge of the forest, just within the bounds of the castle's wards, Padfoot was still a ways off when he could just make out the form of Wormtail scrambling out and making a dash for the ward line. Padfoot pushed forward. Ahead of him, Wormtail became Peter, and Peter was drawing his wand, ready to disapparate.

Sirius transformed and shouted, "WAIT!" coming out half-growl and half-speech.

And Peter waited, perfectly poised to disappear, he waited. Sirius was within the wards, Peter couldn't attack, even though Sirius was wandless.

"I have the map," Sirius said. "I'll know if you ever return. Run. Hide. Maybe you'll never see me again. Come back, and I won't stop until you're dead."

Peter nodded, and with a sharp crack, he disappeared.

Feeling a chill, Sirius looked up and saw the dementors coming. Without a wand, he'd never be able to apparate away, so he transformed and ran for the Whomping Willow.

!

Harry was starting to feel a chill. It should have been a good warning, given how much he was exerting himself. But Harry was too focused on his target.

Black had transformed briefly back into a man, perhaps to disapparate once clear of the wards, but now he was that dog again, that very familiar dog. Harry would make sense of that later. Black was running off to one side of the castle, which drastically cut the amount of distance Harry would have to cover if he wanted to intercept the man.

Harry finally saw that the dog was running for the Whomping Willow, which, Harry couldn't fathom the why of. They had learned about the tree in Herbology; it was incredibly violent. But Black ran at it full sprint, neatly dodging its branches to hit a knot on the trunk with a paw, and the tree froze. Harry should have realized; the man was unhinged, but clearly knew what he was doing. With just a moment's pause, the dog was gone down through a hole in the ground.

"Harry!" Hermione called out after him, and maybe Harry would have thought she just didn't want him chasing after Black anymore, but he could hear the desperation in her voice. Harry turned, and suddenly knew why he was feeling such a chill. A veritable sea of dementors was chasing after them. Hermione and Ron both had their wands at bear, wrapping a patronus fog around them, but it could never be enough.

Harry's first thought was that they should all stand aside, and let the dementors do their job. But then he remembered the dementor that had taken the opportunity to feed off of him at the beginning of the year; the hoard that had swarmed the pitch. These weren't officers of the peace, they weren't there to save anyone, and they couldn't be trusted to leave Harry and his friends alone.

"Come on!" Harry shouted, aiming again for the tunnel. For a change, he wasn't thinking of chasing Black. The narrow entrance might just slow the abominations down.

Harry let his friends catch up with him as they all ran, and felt immediate relief as he was enveloped by the silver fog. They acted in concert, helping each other into the hole in the ground as they pushed forward.

"This was a bad idea," said Hermione as they went along. The dementors were following them, though they were thankfully bottlenecked now.

"Happy thoughts," Harry reminded her.

They were keeping ahead of the dementors, but they all knew that the situation wasn't sustainable. They rushed through the tunnel, Ron and Hermione's patronus charms being slowly worn off by the dementors' ever present aura.

Harry lit his wand as the patronus glow became too weak to see by. He thought about casting his own patronus, but worried that it would be a waste of energy for him.

Finally, his wand light revealed a ladder leading up to a trap door.

"Go on!" Harry urged Hermione forward, lighting the way for her. She went up in a flash, and then, before Harry could encourage Ron to go up, Hermione had her wand on him, and she levitated him up, as Ron covered them from below. Once his feet were on solid ground again, Harry and Hermione both levitated Ron in, while Ron continued to maintain a patronus.

"Coloportus!" Hermione shouted at the trap door, and it slammed shut before the approaching dementors.

"That won't hold for too long," a voice croaked out.

They all spun around to see Sirius Black standing against the far wall, his hands up in a placating position.

"I'd tell you to get out of here, but we're a little bit surrounded. Sorry about that; they may be after me, but they've been starved too long." He locked eyes with Harry. "You can feel it, can't you? You're not safe."

Harry nodded, stone faced.

"I can get us out of here," said Black. "All of us. I just need my wand."

"So you can murder one of us?" asked Ron. "Not bloody likely."

"I'm not here to kill any of you," said Black.

"You could have fooled us," said Harry.

"I came here to protect you!" cried Black.

"I don't care why you came," said Harry. "I don't care what crazy delusions the dementors put in your head. You're the crazy bastard who took my parents away, and you're not getting a wand."

"That is my fault, Harry, but not the way you think."

"You lost the right to call me by my given name years ago," said Harry. The rage was still gone. The bitterness was not. "Stupefy!" Black fell to the ground.

"Hermione," said Harry. "What can we do?"

"I don't know," she whispered.

Ron's patronus light flickered for a moment, and then finally died. Ron slumped, followed shortly by Harry.

"Expecto Patronum," Hermione called out, summoning a weak patronus. She kneeled down next to where Harry had fallen on all fours.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "This is my fault. I didn't stop him."

"I'm just glad you didn't kill him," said Hermione.

"How long can you hold that?" Harry asked of Hermione's patronus.

"It's fading," said Hermione.

Harry was starting to put some serious thought into waking Black and giving him his wand back. It was looking like they were coming down to a choice between trusting Black, or trusting the abominations outside.

Something was pressed into Harry's hand. It was Harry's wand, Hermione had brought it with her. "You can do this," she told him.

She still believed in him.

And then her patronus died. Black started moaning across the room even in his stunned state.

"Merlin!" said Ron, almost beseechingly.

Harry could feel that familiar dread, closing in, only bearable for the small distance between the dementors and them. A distance that the dementors would soon cross.

Harry looked over, and saw that Black would clearly be useless, even if Harry woke him up. He had waited too long to decide to try to trust him. Now, everyone was counting on Harry, and he couldn't let them down.

Hermione believed in him. So did Professor Dumbledore, and so did Ron. Harry had realized that he would need to accept that if he ever wanted to stand against a dementor, but it was hard to believe. To believe that he wasn't tainted by the horcrux within him; that he was a person who wouldn't kill Sirius Black; he was a person that would storm the Chamber of Secrets; he was a person who had best friends like Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

He needed a memory.

_"Is this seat taken?"_

That was the start of it. And Harry wouldn't trade that for _anything_.

"Expecto Patronum!"

For the first time, Harry could feel the magic, the power, course through him and into his wand. For a moment, he was blinded by the light, but when his vision cleared there was no mist, no vague silvery shape. Hovering before him was a magnificent creature. Before him was Fawkes in all silver, as majestic as the real thing. The only thing missing was the phoenix song, but if Harry closed his eyes, he could swear he heard a whisper of it streaming from his wand.

The dementor's aura was completely gone now, had been from the moment the light had been summoned. For the first time since the year's beginning, Harry could remember what it was like to be completely free of them.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!"

Harry turned sharply. Black had Ron's wand, and Harry's friends lay on the ground, now victims of the stunning hex rather than the dementor's aura. Black had Ron's wand pointed at Harry.

"Let's keep our distance this time," he said to Harry. Somehow, even through his bloody and broken face, he looked at Fawkes with something that looked like hope. "You can blame the wand," said Black, presumably of the failed stunning spell. "It's not easy using someone else's."

"Please," said Harry. "Please don't hurt them. If any part of you remembers being family, please."

"I've done what I came here to do," said Black, "or near enough. I won't hurt you, or your friends."

Common sense said that Black was a dirty rotten liar, but Harry didn't think he would be doing his friends any favors by calling him one.

"Go check the windows," said Black. "See if there are any dementors still about."

Still maintaining the patronus, Harry walked towards the nearest window and looked out. It looked to be all clear.

"There's still a few stragglers," he said. He pointed across the room. "I see one through there too."

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand was plucked from Harry's hand and flew across the room to Black and Fawkes winked out of existence.

"You have the same tell as your father, actually," he said. "Spooky, actually. Nice try though, I might have believed it otherwise. Accio Wands."

The two remaining wands, Hermione's and Black's, flew across the room into Black's awaiting hand. He picked his own out before putting the other three onto a nearby shelf.

"What were you even doing all this year?" asked Harry, somewhat bitterly. "You had plenty of chances to come after me or my friends as that dog."

"Like I said," said Black. "I didn't come here for you or your friends. I was looking for an old friend of my own, actually." He sighed and took a deep breath.

"I don't think you're going to have a happy reunion with Professor Lupin," said Harry.

"Good thing I've been avoiding him, then," said Black.

They stared at each other for a moment in silence.

"You'll understand one day," said Black. "I hope. And I really do hope. Thank you for that...Mr. Potter. Perhaps I have lost the right. But I've forsworn no oaths, so I hope you'll forgive me for not beginning now. Stay safe."

With that, he cast his wand at the ceiling, silently launching what seemed a powerful spell that shook the whole building. He disappeared.

It was only moments later, as Harry was waking his friends, that Professor Dumbledore appeared in a flash of fire with Fawkes hovering above him. Fawkes looked to be close to a burning day, perching quickly on Professor Dumbledore's shoulder.

"You're too late," said Harry as he helped Hermione to her feet. "Black's just left."

"Are you hurt?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"Just my pride," Harry muttered. "Whatever brand of crazy he is, it's not the one where he wants to kill me."

"Are you certain?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"Well, he had me at his mercy, we talked for a minute, and he left. If he wants me dead, then he's going about it the wrong way."

"When did this happen?" asked Ron.

"He snagged your wand after you passed out and I got rid of the dementors," said Harry. "He stunned you guys and took my wand."

To Professor Dumbledore he said, "I suppose you noticed the flood of dementors."

"In fact, I noticed the wards on this building collapsing," said Professor Dumbledore. "What happened here?"

"I'm pretty sure I don't actually know," said Harry, feeling tired. "Only you should have told me his animagus form, because your wards didn't stop him from using it."

"I see," said Professor Dumbledore, looking troubled. "Let us adjourn to my office. I believe we will need to consult with our Defense Professor on this subject."

Perhaps Fawkes was too weak to take them all by flame, but they wound up portkeying to Professor Dumbledore's office, where the Professor sent for Professor Lupin via floo. Fawkes perched upon his stand, and promptly burst into flames, which were soon contrasted by the green flames of Professor Lupin's entrance

"You were wrong about the wards," Harry said to Professor Lupin as his friends stared transfixed by the sight of the immolating bird.

"Sorry?" asked Professor Lupin, who still had no idea what was going on.

"Black's been running around as a big black dog since winter at least."

Professor Lupin blanched. "Impossible," he said.

"He's the…woodland creature…who stole my journal."

"Perhaps this will be simpler," said Professor Dumbledore, "if we simply tell the story from the top."

"Just saying," said Harry. "You were all so sure he wanted to kill me. He's had ample opportunity."

"We were practicing defense in a spare classroom," said Hermione, perhaps just wanting to get things on track.

"The twins came in," said Ron. "Black had attacked them in the hall."

Harry wandered over to Fawkes's perch as, together, they told the story. The only interjection was Professor Lupin, when they discussed the map. It was no wonder that Black had been able to so quickly use it when the twins had been so sure he couldn't.

"Then Harry here kicked his arse," said Ron.

"It's my fault he got away," said Harry, if only to change the subject from his complete loss of control, as he gently pet Fawkes's bald head. He suddenly became aware of the blood drying on his hands. "I thought he was unconscious, but he wasn't. He transformed and ran out of there." He should have listened to Hermione. There was a line between self-defense and wrath, and he had crossed it. Looking back, he didn't like it one bit.

Harry told most of the rest. How the dementors had come, and how Harry had been certain that they wouldn't be safe from them. Professor Dumbledore did not seem to think this was an incorrect assumption. Hermione took up at the end to gush over Harry's patronus, though she had seen it only briefly before Black had stunned her. But Harry was the only one who could relate the last moments of the confrontation with Black.

"He had you at his mercy?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"Completely," Harry admitted.

"Perhaps he truly is repentant," said Remus.

"Well he's talking like he's innocent," Harry rebutted.

"It still begs the question of what he was doing here," said Professor Dumbledore.

Ron actually raised his hand. "I'm pretty sure he's just crazy," he said when everyone looked at him.

"It is a distinct possibility," said Professor Dumbledore. "Indeed, his behavior is certainly erratic, to a point. But that does not mean that there is no method to the madness. He may well have a motive we cannot yet fathom."

"I still want to know how he was transforming on the grounds," said Harry.

All eyes turned to Professor Lupin, who turned pensive.

"It's generally easy to assume that Sirius performed some impressive feat of magic, as he has quite a few to his name. I don't know that he could get around the wards though, not without alerting Professor Dumbledore. No, Sirius had a number of criminal contacts from his work during the war. It's possible he paid someone to pay some people in Egypt to say they saw him there, knowing that Professor Dumbledore has always made learning the Animagus spell possible at Hogwarts. He would only have needed to be sure to be here when the wards were relaxed."

"A simpler explanation is that the sighting was a simple mistake," said Professor Dumbledore. "Egyptian citizens were told to be on the lookout, and false sightings are common enough."

Harry was getting a headache. This whole evening was a farce.

"Anyway," said Harry. "Can we get rid of the dementors now, since they're dangerous and useless?"

"They will be gone by morning," said Professor Dumbledore simply.

"Good," said Harry. "Then is there anything else to discuss? Because I'm making an early night of it."

"Were the Gryffindor passwords written in your journal?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

Harry paused. He'd forgotten about that. "But he still couldn't have read them," he said. "Unless you think he's so powerful, he got past your protections."

"There is one other way to get past them," said Professor Dumbledore.

"You think he's planning to kill Voldemort?" asked Harry.

"It is a possibility," said Professor Dumbledore.

"You can do that?" asked Professor Lupin. "Guard a book based on the intent of the reader?"

"The desire," corrected Professor Dumbledore.

"I've said it before," said Professor Lupin. "I don't know that Sirius had any love for Voldemort. It's entirely possible he wants Voldemort dead. Would he even know that Voldemort is still alive though?"

"He would if he over heard us talking about killing Voldemort," said Ron. "You know, when he was running around as a stray dog."

"But it's not just the wanting Voldemort dead," said Harry, a little angry. "You need more than that. What? You think Black and I want the same thing? The same way?"

"We still don't know that he read it," said Hermione. "It's like Harry said at the time. He and Neville both wrote the passwords down. They were hardly the only ones."

"Perhaps time will tell, one way or another," mused Professor Dumbledore. "You may go. We will talk more later, Harry."

"Later then," said Harry, not particularly caring that he was being at least a little rude.

He was done for the night. Tonight should have answered at least some of the myriad of questions Harry had. Instead he had more. Harry was beginning to hope he never saw Black again, if only to keep his sanity intact.

Harry walked alone down the spiral staircase, making his way back to the tower. He just wanted sweet unconsciousness to claim him, and be done with this day, though it occurred to him that someone probably still needed to go check on the twins.

"You there, boy!"

Harry looked up from his feet. Frankly, he wasn't sure how he had missed hearing her approach. Professor Trelawney was clambering down the hall with a large bag of, if Harry had to guess, crystal balls.

"Hold this," said Professor Trelawney, thrusting the bag in Harry's direction, seeming to not notice the blood.

Cursing his timing, Harry stepped forward and accepted the heavy sack.

"Of all the ways to package crystal balls," said Professor Trelawney. "I'm sure I'm going to break half of them by the time I get up to my rooms. Hold it open now."

Harry sighed and did as he was told. How had he ended up Trelawney's errand boy?

Reaching into the bag, Trelawney pulled out a few of the globes, which she secured delicately in her arms.

"There now, that's not too heavy for you, is it? Come and help me bring these to my tower. That's a good lad."

"Sure thing, Professor," said Harry dully.

The bag was heavy, though it was mostly just awkward to cary. Harry could see why the professor hadn't wanted to cary them all herself.

"Why don't we just levitate these?" asked Harry.

"Are you mad?" asked Professor Trelawney. "Levitate these precise instruments? Contaminate them with our magic?"

"Wouldn't want that," Harry muttered to himself. "How about if we levitate the bag?" he asked more loudly.

"Oh, youth these days. Levitate the bag. You know, magic doesn't solve everything, dear."

Harry sighed and followed her through the castle. He'd never been to her classroom before, so he supposed at least he'd get to see where Ron spent his divination classes.

It was nearly a half-hour trek through the castle when they reached the divination tower, and the ladder that led up into a trap door in the ceiling.

"How are we supposed to get these up there?" asked Harry.

"Here, hold the bag open again," said Professor Trelawney.

Harry followed her directions, and soon found himself in the custody of all of the globes again.

"Now, I'll go up first, and you can hand them up to me, how does that sound?"

Harry shrugged, and they did just that. Only as the bag was passed from him to the Professor, the other woman went very still, seeming to stare straight through Harry.

"It will happen tonight. The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, the servant has broken free, and will set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more powerful than ever he was. Tonight...the servant...will set out...to rejoin...his master..."

With that, she gasped and let go of the sack, which she had a death grip on only moments before. Harry had to dodge to the side of the ladder, just barley catching the bag before it could hit the ground.

"Oh, that was a nice catch," said Professor Trelawney, herself again.

The words of the prophecy sank in, and Harry's fingers went slack, letting the bag of crystal balls fall to the ground.

"I'd hoped to have more time."

A/N: Hey, I'm getting better at this whole 'updating' thing. Maybe I'll have the next chapter out in a reasonable amount of time.

Anyhow, hope you enjoyed this latest installment. My beta The Lord of Chaos just updated his fic Blood, an interesting Severitus fic, which you may want to check out. Also, you may want to check out his Avengers/Big Hero 6 x-over Avenged, a really good read.


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